


tumblr smut prompts

by thegoldenrin



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 34,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28615650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoldenrin/pseuds/thegoldenrin
Summary: Every drabble I've posted for the smut dialogue prompts on my Tumblr. Warnings and pairings at the beginning of each chapter :)edit: renamed cause I don't know the meaning of drabble apparently and all of these far exceed 100 words lmao
Relationships: Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)/Jack Dalton/Murdoc, Angus MacGyver/Murdoc (MacGyver TV 2016), Angus MacGyver/Russ Taylor, Angus MacGyver/Vincent Brule, Jack Dalton/Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016), Jack Dalton/Angus MacGyver/Russ Taylor, Jonah Walsh/Angus MacGyver
Comments: 26
Kudos: 60





	1. MacTaylor Roadtrip (M)

**Author's Note:**

> the ask for this chapter was no.8 “If you’re going to act like a little brat then I’m going to treat you like a little brat.” + mactaylor, and contains some spanking. enjoy! as always my Tumblr is @azurelacrima and if you comment and leave kudos I might just happy-cry. 
> 
> (psst also still taking requests if you wanna hop on the train)

“Are we there yet?”

Suppressing the increasingly overwhelming urge to simply brain himself on the steering wheel of his Bentley, Russ groans, knuckles turned white and bloodless with how hard he’s clenching his hands. Angus isn’t even looking at him properly, has been fiddling with a bastardised version of origami involving the foil wrapper that their lunch came in.   
  
“No, darling, just as I said the previous twenty times you asked, including two minutes ago. I know it’s late, but just sit tight for a bit more and we’ll be there before you know it”, he answers, voice kept low and indulgent even though Russ is this close to shaking out of his skin himself - or falling asleep, at two in the morning after their extended road trip. But they’ve almost reached their destination, only another half hour at most on this narrow mountain road. He blinks heavily against the burning in his eyes, for once revelling in the blessed absence of Angus’ voice.  
  
“...are we the-”  
  
Tires screeching, Russ brings the car to an abrupt stop, ignoring the small yelp his partner gives in the passenger seat. He’s already reaching for the stick shift to throw them into park, followed by his hands wrapping in an iron grip around Angus’ biceps and ordering him into his lap in a low voice, something dark and possessive curling deep in his chest at the sight of sky-blue eyes widening as he scrambles to comply. And then Russ has a lap-full of panting, pretty blond, cock stirring against the zipper of his pants.  
  
He fists his right hand in the messy strands of Angus’ hair, pulling just enough to make him feel it, left hand already tearing at the hem of his pants. _“You”_ , he hisses lowly, leaning forward to press a series of open-mouthed, snarling kisses against the unmarked expanse of Angus’ throat, bobbing heavily with desperate swallows and hard breaths. “-know full well how far off we are from that cabin, _Angus_ , don’t think I didn’t see you checking bloody Google Maps every ten minutes, but without a cock in your mouth you can’t keep fucking quiet for the life of you-”  
  
Angus mewls helplessly, hips trying desperately to grind down against Russ, trousers and boxers halfway down along his ass. “M-maybe you should _make_ me, then”, he pants, fingers twitching against Russ’ chest, Russ who stills in realisation. _Oh._  
  
He blinks up at Angus still squirming in his lap, looking for all the world like a cat that got the canary, half-smirk, spit-slick throat, wide-blown pupils and all. And then his brain comes back online, hands twitching into motion as he switches his grip on blond locks to his left hand, bringing his right down in a swift but hard tap against the exposed flesh of Angus’ left buttock.  
  
His partner jumps in surprise, jaw falling open along with the slack line of his mouth, forming a pretty o-shape that’s almost enough to tempt Russ before he shakes himself out of it and delivers a second spank to that beautiful ass.  
  
“Oh- c’mon, Russ, please, what’re you-”  
  
“No”, he hisses, left hand tilting Mac’s head back until he can see the bob of his Adam’s apple move hypnotically beneath his skin, glistening in the silver moonlight. “If you’re going to act like a little brat then I’m going to treat you like a little brat.”  
  
He can physically see how Angus’ breath stutters in his chest, eyes fluttering as he moans gutturally, already melting underneath Russ’ hands. _Who knows_ , he thinks to himself, already digging the tips of his fingers into the spot where he plans to deliver his next spank, _maybe I’ll let him ride me when we’re done with this, just for being a good little brat._


	2. MacTaylor Suits (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no. 20 “You’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little slut you are.” + mactaylor
> 
> contains: semi-public fingering, mentions of gun-fucking, ftm Mac, Russ having a suit-kink
> 
> also I just want to say that if there's any grammatical errors or weird sentences in these it's bc none of these are beta'd and I basically just key-smash a bunch of smut before hitting "post" lmao I hope you can still enjoy them!

Head tilted to his left side critically, Mac assesses himself in the floor-length mirror of the fancy fitting room. He’s currently sporting a dark burgundy two-piece embellished by black floral detail, with a matching black shirt and black tie. The shoes are a simple black pair too, but Mac can tell just from looking at his ensemble that every piece of it probably costs more than his monthly salary.   
  
It feels like it too, silky-soft material that nestles against his skin so lightly it feels more like liquid; he turns this way and that, admitting to himself that the fit is better than any he’s bought for himself or even lent from the Phoenix, but still somewhat self-conscious amidst the obvious luxury of the establishment. He’s half-afraid to move even just in the massive dressing room for fear of breaking something.   
  
A knock sounds at the door, and Mac goes to open it, immediately finding himself pushed against the adjacent wall as it falls closed with a quiet _click_ again. His exclamation of surprise is swallowed by hot, insistent lips on his, and the rough drag of a bearded jaw against his own. He melts into the clash of mouths and tongues, blue eyes fluttering closed on a soft moan even as he feels nimble fingers tugging at his waistband.  
  
His boyfriend, one Russell Taylor, breaks the kiss with a low groan, already bending back down to press a hot, open-mouthed line of kisses along Mac’s jawline, whose brain is still struggling to catch up with the program. And then he feels Russ pop the button of his pants and drag down his zipper, already sliding the expensive material down over Mac’s thighs.   
  
“W-wait, what - Russ, what on _earth_ are you doing?”, Mac gasps, wide-eyed and more than a little turned on in a very confused manner. Russ grins mischievously, leaning back as Mac reaches over to engage the lock on the door next to them.   
  
“I’d like to think it abundantly clear, darling - I’m getting you off in this dressing room right now”, he rasps, dark brown eyes roaming over his suit-clad body so heatedly it never fails to make goosebumps break out all over his skin. He raises two fingers into his own mouth, audibly sucking on them as Mac’s head drops back against the wall with a thump. “R-right _now?_ ”  
  
Russ releases his fingers with a wet pop, lowering them until he can push them in-between Mac’s legs, sliding against his sensitive cock. The spit is just lubricating enough to make for an easier slide, but still with that harsh edge of friction that turns Mac’s legs into jelly. He gasps lowly, hands flying up clutch and his boyfriend’s shoulders, who keeps an iron grip on his hip with his right hand. “But - _Russ_ , we’re in public! What about the shop assistant?!”  
  
His boyfriend tuts, lowering his lips until his breath puffs out hotly against Mac’s ears, doing his very best to turn him into putty with the motions of his left hand. “Don’t worry about that, love, I asked him to find me a very specific set of cufflinks and a pocket-square. The cufflinks he’ll have to order first, and I hid the pocket-square in the sock-section. We’ve got some time.”  
  
Mac stutters out a half-moan, half-laugh, blinking dizzily up at the ceiling. “You’re - _unbelievable_ , you British devil”, he snorts, feeling a shiver crawl down his spine at the drag of Russ’ beard against his neck. “What - you can’t just make me come all over this suit, Russ, that’s - _oh_ \- that’s not very-”  
  
“You won’t come over the suit, don’t worry about that - I’ll keep it clean”, Russ growls, making a hot stab of want punch right into Mac’s gut, low squeak slipping from his throat as he pictures all the ways he might do just that. “And we’re buying it anyways, you look delicious in it. I’ll pay some extra for how... vigorously we tried it on.”  
  
“Oh my god”, Mac laughs, widening the stance of his legs for easier access. “Oh my god, you actually have a suit kink. It’s a thing. It’s _so_ a thing.”  
  
Leaning back to stare down at Mac with a predatory gaze, Russ’ lips quirk into an indulgent little smirk. “Oh _Angus_ , you’ve really got no leg to stand on here - you think I didn’t see you eyeing my rifle last week?” Mac feels his eyes widen, mouth dropping open in pure shock, much to Russ’ amusement. “And now”, he whispers, leaning in to let their lips brush against each other, “You’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little slut you are.”  
  
And then he spears two fingers right into Mac’s hole, large, calloused thumb rubbing over his twitching cock, right hand coming up to press down over Mac’s mouth just as a loud moan is about to slip right past.   
  
Sweet lord, this man is going to be the death of him. 


	3. MacDalton Camping (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 4: “You’d better be quiet if you don’t want to get caught.” + macdalton
> 
> contains: semi-public sex in a tent; ftm Mac, very implausible sleep-fingering, one poor James MacGyver

_Cicadas are chirping. The sun is shining. For once, Jack Dalton is completely at peace, sat by the lake with his daughter and boyfriend, Riley and Mac, both of whom are sporting smiles to rival the sun itself. Mac turns to him, gives him that thousand megawatt grin-_  
  
Rustling. “Jack.”  
  
_Jack frowns. How do people even rustle? But Mac manages, those baby blues twinkling at him insistently. He’s saying something, but his mouth isn’t moving-_  
  
“Jack. Jack, _wake up_.”  
  
Grunting in confusion, Jack snores himself into wakefulness, gradually becoming aware of the almost cloying heat all around him. He’s draped frontally over someone’s warm - no, hot - body, someone who’s breathing hard and fast, someone with golden blond hair tickling at Jack’s face.  
  
“H-heya, big guy”, Mac stutters, blue eyes half-lidded and hazy, grinning weakly up at Jack who blinks in confusion. “M’nin, sweeth’rt”, he slurs, struggling to think past the mind-numbing bodily contact between them. He frowns, searching for the source of Mac’s strange behaviour in his face-  
  
And then he suddenly becomes aware of the rest of his body twitching back into feeling, realises with a start exactly where his right hand is buried when Mac whimpers helplessly against him, clenching down on the two fingers in his body while his hips grind up against Jack’s palm pressed loosely against his cock.   
  
Jack rears back in shock, finally taking in the full image of Mac sprawled out beneath him, sweatpants loose and far too large against his wrist. His boyfriend’s skin is coated in a thin layer of sweat, mouth hanging half-open as he pants desperately. Jack flinches, about to pull away his hand, goes to apologise when two firm hands shoot down simultaneously to grab onto his muscled forearm.   
  
“ _Don’t_ ”, Mac groans, thighs twitching around his hand. “Just, uh- it’s okay, you rolled over in your sleep and started clinging onto me, a-and I don’t know how it happened but then - uh, like half an hour ago, and I just... god, Jack, you wouldn’t _fucking move_ -”  
  
Jack is still reeling, thoughts running wild as he tries frantically to parse out which parallel universe he’s been dropped in. His mouth works faster than his brain, as it tends to, lips already moving to form words. “I - uh, I’m sorry? Oh man, hoss, I really am - uh, what... what do you want me to do?”  
  
Mac makes a broken noise in the back of his throat, electric blue eyes staring up at Jack. “Just - please, fuck me?”, he breathes out, and Jack’s nodding frantically before he’s even finished his sentence, drawing his fingers out carefully to reach into his own pants and start jerking himself to hardness. Mac sighs, wiggling out of his own sweatpants, and then he’s manoeuvring himself on top of Jack, hovering over the tip of his hard cock.   
  
“W-wait!”, Jack interjects, hands flying to grab onto Mac’s hips in a bruising grip. “You - are you sure? With the others sleeping right next to us in their own tents?” Mac blinks, as if only now realising where they are - on a Phoenix bonding trip with people such as his father and childhood best friend. Then he shrugs, bending over to reach for his bag in the cramped tent, rummaging around until he’s found a half-empty bottle of lube that has Jack tamping down on a disbelieving snort.  
  
“You’d better be quiet if you don’t want to get caught”, he whispers, lips brushing against Jack’s ear, sending shivers down his spine that turn into a desperate moan only caught by Mac’s mouth on his when his lips seal themselves over Jack’s in a hot, clumsy kiss, coordination lost to sleepiness, lube-slick hands smoothing over his hard length.   
  
“Fuckin’ - best camping trip ever”, he gasps, grinning up at Mac slowly sinking down on his length, both of them trying to keep their giggles quiet. 

* * *

  
(The next day, Jack steps out of their tent to be greeted by a sour-faced Oversight. What really sets his alarm bells off, though, is the look of pure schadenfreude on Matty’s face, and then James tells him very seriously to always remember, “that I’m your boss, Dalton, and I can fire you at a moment’s notice, so please never do that with Angus in my earshot again.”)


	4. MacDaltonTaylor Worry (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 86: “Let me show you what happens to little brats who don’t follow the rules.” + macdaltontaylor
> 
> contains: threesome, dirty-talk, semi-public (but non-graphic) fingering, sex toys
> 
> look. okay. russ with a Bentley. jack with his GTO. I'm a simple gal to please. and one day I might just produce a full length ot3 piece for these three.

Mac knows he’s in for it the second he steps onto the Phoenix jet.   
  
He can see the pent-up tension in both of his partners, in the way Russ sits ramrod-straight, in the hard clench of Jack’s jaw, how they won’t give him more than one-syllable replies to his questions. It has him squirming in his seat, desperately eyeing Desi at the other end of the jet, talking loudly into her phone to who Mac suspects is probably Riley. It’s the only sound breaking the tense silence, except for Mac’s blood pounding in his ears.  
  
Look, okay, it’s not like he _intended_ to be drop-kicked out of a fourth-story window, or almost drown in the pool underneath, or then get shot at with AK-47s, or make his partners think he’d been hit by that truck, or-  
  
He winces to himself, already squirming in his seat. Yeah, okay, the explosion at the end might’ve been a bit much. But surely they won’t keep this up over the entirety of the four-hour flight back?

* * *

  
They do, in fact, keep it up for the entire four-hour flight, plus the car-ride home in Jack’s GTO. Mac is regaled to the backseat, another surefire indicator of how much trouble he’s in. While Jack and Russ have mostly overcome their initial desire to rip each other’s throats out - for which a great majority of the credit goes to Mac - their cars are still a popular topic to bicker about constantly, and only hundreds of rounds of rock-paper-scissors as well as five independent referees got them to agree on a week-by-week system. In all that time, not once have they ever let the other ride shotgun. Until now.   
  
About halfway to Mac’s house, Russ breaks the silence as he chucks something into the backseat. Mac blinks down at the bottle of lube next to him in confusion, about to ask when he’s interrupted by Russ’ no-nonsense growl he only gets when someone’s pointing a gun at his coworkers or when he’s about to really rail Mac’s brain into mush. “Finger your hole open, Angus, we want you wet and loose by the time we get home.”  
  
Mac squeaks, staring open-mouthed at his partners. “W-what, now?!”  
  
Russ turns around slowly, eyebrows raised. “Did I stutter? You’re going to open yourself up for us like a good slut, and then when we get home... well. Let me show you what happens to little brats who don’t follow the rules.”  
  
If it were possible for him to come in his pants so quickly at just one sentence, that would’ve been the moment. Mac lags for another second and then scrambles to comply, warmth starting to pool in his gut from where he can see Jack’s hands clenching on the steering wheel. _God, I’m really about to get railed into next month._  
  
Jack’s haphazard parking job belies his calm façade, as does the speed with which they both exit the GTO. Mac takes a bit longer, having to tug his pants back over his lower half first, half-jogging after them as they stalk up to the front door like two men on a mission.   
  
The door falls in its lock and then Mac finds himself tugged into Jack’s strong chest, teeth tugging at his bottom lip as Russ starts working on his clothes, placing little pecks and bites over every inch of skin he uncovers. Jack kisses the ability to form words right out of him, licks into Mac’s mouth until he’s whining and squirming, aching to be filled in any way possible.   
  
He breaks the kiss, breathing heavily, fingers already on the last button of Mac’s shirt - he hadn’t even realised, so lost in the sheer warmth of Jack’s mouth.  
  
“Fuck, baby”, his boyfriend groans, voice low and gravelly, “you’re a fuckin’ sight for sore eyes, now if only you’d stop being so damned _reckless_ -”  
  
Shirt sliding down the flushed skin of Mac’s shoulders, he barely resists the urge to point out that if they want to teach him otherwise, this is a very ineffectual way of doing that. It sends a lot of mixed signals for sure, as if getting his two incredibly hot boyfriends to fuck him senseless is some kind of punishment-  
  
Just then, Russ sidles up behind him, wrapping strong arms around Mac’s waist and dragging his beard over the sensitive skin of his neck, Jack following suit by sucking a purpling bruise into the other side. Mac blinks up at the ceiling, caught between their hard, still clothed bodies, erections pressing against him from front and back, his own digging into the rough material of Jack’s pants. God, he’s died. He’s died and gone to heaven, there’s no other explanation for this.   
  
And then they’re both stepping back, lining up in front of him while two pairs of hands press down on his shoulders, Mac on his knees on the carpeted floor of the entrance in front of two incredibly dangerous, aroused men, both staring down at him with dark brown eyes, panting and - is that the black vibrator?  
  
“Here’s what’s going to happen, love”, Russ murmurs, left hand tracing the cut of Mac’s jaw, right hand curled around the massive black vibrating dildo, causing his hard cock to twitch in thrilled anticipation. “First, you’re going to sit on your favourite toy, turn it up to the third setting.”   
  
Jack takes over, cock visibly pushing against the seam of his pants. “Then, darlin’, you just wait there, mouth open so we can use it as we see fit, let us paint your pretty face even prettier. And after...”  
  
“You’re going to wait for us to get hard again, on your knees, still on your toy, and only then will we fuck you until you’re crying”, Russ finishes darkly, pressing his thumb down on Mac’s kiss-swollen bottom lip for Jack’s index finger to push inside gently.   
  
Mac _whimpers_ , already halfway to floating in that warm, fuzzy place, muscles starting to go slack with want. Jack pushes out a harsh breath and a needy, low sound in the back of his throat, and then they’re both fumbling with their belts, pulling out hard lengths as Russ hands Mac the intimidatingly large toy.   
  
“Come on then, darling, be good for us.”


	5. MacTaylor Anniversary (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 41: “You keep acting like a little brat and I’ll take you over my knee right here, I don’t care how many people are watching.” + mactaylor
> 
> contains: public tomfoolery, dirty talk, kind of but not really foot kink (it really isn't but just in case), inappropriate eating, mentions of nipple piercings
> 
> I love love love this pairing. come scream at me about it. write something for it. I will cry. credit for the driving in circles hc goes to the lovely, wonderful, show stopping kel. love you bby.

For their one-year anniversary, Russ takes Mac out to his favourite high-end restaurant downtown, tuxes and roses and all. It’s all very romantic, Mac has to admit.   
  
But the fact of the matter is that, a) between Russ’ suit-kink and Mac’s... Russ-kink, they barely made it out of the house, and b) his boyfriend fully exploited his ability to drive one-handed on the way here by teasing Mac’s soul out of his body.  
  
As if he ever doesn’t.  
  
Ma can barely sit still in his seat, thighs pressed together underneath the table, feeling strung-out and fidgety. Russ doesn’t look to be holding up much better, even if he’s doing an admirable job of hiding his erection underneath the tablecloth.   
  
Collecting a generous line of white Béchamel-sauce on his plate, Mac smiles innocently across the table and candlelight at his partner, who admittedly looks very smart in his grey-and-pink three piece suit.   
  
“So, how did you say your friend from MI6 found his vacation in the Bahamas?”, he asks conversationally, waiting for Russ to clear his throat in answer. “Well, he- _Angus!_ ”  
  
He finishes dragging his tongue all the way along the blunt edge of his knife, making sure Russ has a a perfect view on the white sauce before he closes his mouth around it, savouring the taste with fluttering eyelids before he swallows with an audible sigh. Mac reopens his eyes to cut another piece of fish for himself, lips quirking at how tightly Russ is gripping his cutlery. “What, babe? Everything alright? You look a little... _tense_.”  
  
Russ stares down at the tabletop beseechingly, even as Mac finishes the last of his dinner, laying down his fork and knife with a quiet clang. “I, for one, am enjoying myself very much. The food here is simply mind- _blowing_.”  
  
In verbatim it sounds a little strange, the emphasis on blowing, but it has the intended effect in drawing a low groan from his boyfriend across the table. But if Russell hasn’t learned not to start games he can’t finish, then Mac will simply have to take it upon himself to teach him.   
  
“Angus my love, light of my life, my darling”, Russ starts, desperate enough to clench both hands into tight fists on the table-top, brown eyes blown wide in lust and exasperation. “I am _begging_ you, please do not do that with your Crème Brûlée for dessert. I couldn’t take it.”  
  
Leaning across the table to take hold of Russ’ hands, Mac strokes long, teasing fingers along the hard line of his wrists, drawing small circles over his clenched knuckles. He can feel the strength in them, how powerful the muscles underneath his fingertips are, remembers vividly all the things they’ve done to him this last week alone.   
  
He breathes in deeply, smells burning wax and expensive colognes and _Russ_ , and it’s almost enough to make him lose it. But Mac has a plan, and for that he needs to be a little more patient.   
  
“Of course, Russ”, he smiles, chuckling quietly at the relieved sigh his boyfriend gives, even as the waiters come to remove their plates.   
Spoiler alert: that was a lie.   
  
The moment their desserts are set down in front of them - Crème Brûlée for Mac and chocolate cake for Russ - Mac pulls out all the stops, every last thing he knows will get to his boyfriend. He swirls his tongue around the spoon, drags it over the slack line of his lips, pushes the convex part of it against his cheek from the inside to make it bulge out visibly, lets his eyes flutter and gives his best stage-moan - he doesn’t even get halfway through his portion before Russ exhales on a sharp hiss, the tip of his dress shoe poking at Mac’s ankle underneath the table insistently.   
  
“Angus”, he says lowly, and when Mac looks up he’s greeted by the most beautiful, dishevelled sight he’s ever seen, Russ about to explode with his lips in a thin white line. “You keep acting like a little brat and I’ll take you over my knee right here, I don’t care how many people are watching.”  
  
Mac giggles, has stopped caring whether anyone will catch onto their antics entirely. The tap of Russ’ foot against his underneath the table has given him an idea, and he smiles mischievously even as he toes his right shoe off underneath the table.   
  
“Really?”, he drawls, leaning back in his chair leisurely, even though he knows he must look just as bad as Russ from the outside. Well, maybe not quite so growly. “Because let me tell you... that would certainly make for an interesting show for everyone here.” On the last word he strikes, grinds the ball of his right foot against Russ’ erection, watching with glee how his mouth drops open on a just barely silent gasp. He lets it massage over the hard length gently, Russ now gripping onto the arms of his chair with white-knuckled fervour.   
  
“But there’s one last thing you might need to know... I’m already wearing your present.”  
  
Russ’ breath stutters, and Mac’s pulse misses a beat in sheer excitement. The present in question are two diamond-studded nipple bars, sleek and elegant and probably worth more than Mac’s car. They laid on his bedside table that morning, as part of Russ’ anniversary gift.   
  
Speaking of the man, Mac seems to have successfully broken him, as he rummages in his pocket and draws out a black credit card, already gesturing frantically for a waiter.   
  
He looks at Mac with dark brown eyes, visibly struggling not to drop his gaze onto Mac’s chest at any given moment. “Put your shoe back on, you irredeemable minx”, he rumbles, sending shivers down Mac’s spine. “And then get ready to leave, I’m going to fuck you in the Bentley.”


	6. MacWalsh Revenge (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 12: “You don’t have to be gentle with me, I don’t break easily.” + macwalsh
> 
> contains: older man x younger man, mentions of daddy kink, mentions of Murdoc (for some reason???), size kink, large cock, ftm Mac
> 
> LOOK. OKAY. this is Jonah Walsh/Angus MacGyver. I have nothing to say for myself except: hell better have some air conditioning.  
> BUT: it is 100% consensual on both sides. the implications can get a little strange if that's not your thing but- tbh this is by far not the worst thing we've written on this. ooooh boy. I'm side-eyeing some stuff big time. lmk if you wanna see more of this. I do.

The moment Mac finds himself staring down the barrel of Jonah Walsh’s gun, he knows deep in his gut that something about this is different.   
  
He’s had guns pointed at him throughout most of his adult life, looked into cold and calculating or furious and wild eyes respectively; but this man, _Jonah_ , he doesn’t look at Mac the way most people who have wanted to shoot him do. No, when Jonah looks at Mac, something else lurks behind stormy blue eyes. Another reason for the tension in his massive, hulking body than merely ‘He’s a terrible person and this is what he does’ or ‘my dad and him don’t get along’.   
  
Mac gets his answer sooner than he’d have expected, as his father is led off into a basement lab, while he finds a large, heavy hand pushing against his shoulder blade, skin hot even through his many layers.   
  
And then Walsh asks him a question, in a voice that’s low and dangerous and everything that should make Mac want to run.   
  
The backs of his knees hit a wooden bed frame, and he drops down onto the mattress.   
  
His entire body feels like a live-wire under perpetual electrification, liquid heat coiling in his gut. He’s spreading his knees apart for Jonah to step in-between almost without conscious thought, breath hitching even just at the drag of fabric over his naked skin.   
  
Mac sits before his father’s archenemy, his father whom he’s only just found that very morning, and his archenemy who pointed a gun at his head not even ten minutes ago - and all he can focus on is the massive fingers pulling at his belt, slowly undoing his brown trousers as he lets them slide down thighs thrice the size of Mac’s, with hands that look like they could snap him in fucking half, reavealing-   
  
Mac feels him mouth drop open, cheeks hot and flushed with surprise. Revealing an erection that looks more like a fucking forearm, apparently perfectly proportional to the rest of the man’s size; hard and leaking at the tip, cut, and all in all the largest cock Mac has ever seen.   
  
“Like what you see, baby?”, a low voice rumbles, and Mac’s head snaps up. He stares at a grinning face, one he’s seen once or twice on briefings, or just from when Interpol updated their most wanted list; never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined seeing it like this.   
  
He swallows wetly. “Y-yes.” The worst part is, he’s telling the truth.   
  
Walsh chuckles, a throaty, guttural sound, and then he’s pushing Mac flat on his back, holding himself up by one massive arm as the other snakes between Mac’s legs to ghost over his cock in a hot-iron brand, enough to make him mewl even before he dips three fingers further down to collect wetness from between the folds there.   
  
His eyes never leave Mac’s, even as he rubs over and between his legs surprisingly gently, turning his stomach into a thousand knots while simultaneously undoing them. God, this is the worst kind of tease - he can _feel_ the heat of his erection hanging over his spread legs, can even catch a glimpse of it bobbing in the air between them if he strains his neck, but Jonah seems content to finger Mac like he’s a blushing, staggering virgin.   
  
“You don’t have to be gentle with me, I don’t break easily.” The breathy declaration brings Walsh up short, blinking down at Mac in obvious surprise; then something shifts behind his eyes, and when he next drives three fingers deep into Mac’s body, he does so without the velvet gloves of before.  
  
“You like it rough, do you? You wanna be put on your back and fucked like a whore, huh? Might wanna be careful what you wish for, _Angus_ , I’m not exactly a lightweight as it is.” Mac’s toes curl against the cool air of the room, and he’s already blinking tears out of his eyes from the pressure building up in his gut, climbing with every pass of Jonah’s fingers inside.   
  
He keeps fucking Mac with his fingers, even as he bellows out a laugh, even as he bends down to press a snarl of a kiss against Mac’s slack lips, swallowing the guttural whine that slips right past them.   
  
“Mhhm, I wonder what your daddy would say if he could see you right now”, Jonah muses, and that has Mac squirming, both in embarrassment and other reasons. His skin is burning fever-bright, but it’s nothing compared to the blazing inferno between his legs.  
  
“D-oh-! D-don’t call him that, please”, he mumbles, ducking his head at the frown Jonah gives him. And then it slowly morphs into understanding, and Mac feels all the muscles in his gut tense up in something he can’t name.   
  
“O-oh, does Angus call someone else his daddy?”, he sing-songs, never letting up on the rapid-fire motion of his hands. Mac can feel the blush spreading all over his body, and his broken mewl seems to be answer enough. “He _does_ , would you look at that. And what would your _other daddy_ say if he could see you like this?”  
  
Mac thinks of dark eyes, Home on the Range, _you’re mine to kill, boy scout, I could kill him for you_ \- “I - I think he’d probably have the time of his life”, he answers honestly, and Jonah grins, rubs harshly over Mac’s cock as he crooks his fingers just right, making his back arch off the bed at an angle that’s almost painful.   
  
“Well, well, sounds like someone I’d get along with. For now... let’s see if I can get you to call _me_ daddy too. I’m sure Jim-Jam would just love to hear all about that.”


	7. MacTaylor Cruise (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 61: “If you don’t change out of those shorts and into some pants I’ll have them around your ankles by lunch time.” + mactaylor
> 
> cw: s p e e d o s
> 
> look I don't know. I don't like speedos. I don't. but russ totally wears them.

_“...sex on the beach.”_  
  
Mac sighs, sinking deeper into his chair as he tips the front part of his hat further down, shielding him from Riley and Desi’s vulture-like gazes. He can hear them giggling through the comm in his ear, right along with Russ’ half-incredulous, half-devastated voice.   
  
_“You had your pick of any fathomable high-end liquor on earth, and you got yourself a sex on the beach.”_  
  
Grumbling under his breath, Mac takes a sip from his cocktail. It tastes good, sweet with just enough of a kick to keep him on his toes. Unlike some people, he’s not a pretentious wanker who acts like he doesn’t like cocktails. Everyone likes cocktails.   
  
_“I’m not saying it isn’t an objectively enjoyable drink, but come on, Angus - they have a collection of over one hundred different kinds of gin! On a sidenote, I’m overjoyed that I’m finally rubbing off on you, darling. I’ve never heard anyone say wanker quite as you do.”_  
  
 _“I’m sure this is far from the first time you’ve rubbed off on him, Taylor, but sure”_ , Desi pipes up, and Mac has to physically shield himself to hide his blush. Unfortunately, the strangled noise that makes it past his lips isn’t so easily contained. He knew this was a bad idea.   
  
Being undercover is always a bit of a coin toss, but Mac is hard pressed to find an assignment he’s hated more than this - tourists on a cruise ship who have to pretend like they’re actually enjoying themselves on vacation while secretly trying to smoke out a money-laundering ring. If only they could do it without the vacation part, he’d be sold. He can’t even get any sympathy from Desi, who’s just as much of a workaholic as he is, because she’s too busy laughing at him for the sex on the beach too. Well, not the actual sex on the beach. Although that was arguably more of a disaster than the cocktail.  
  
“Look”, he huffs, draining the rest of his drink in one go as he stands up to walk out of the open bar alongside one of the pools, ignoring Riley and Desi still laughing at him in the corner. “Laugh all you want, but between us, who’s being a grump all alone in the whirlpool, and who’s just had an absolutely _delicious_ fruit-cocktail?”  
  
Russ’ tinny voice makes a small noise in his ear, one that’s almost always followed by an hour-long lecture about something or other, always delivered in that infuriatingly _sexy_ tone of voice, the one Mac’s always imagined hot professors should have. But the lecture doesn’t come, there’s only silence that follows.   
  
Blinking in confusion, Mac readjusts his hat, stretching his arms as he looks around like a regular vacationer soaking up some sun. Meanwhile, he tries to sneak small glances at where he knows his boyfriend is currently positioned. “Russ, what-”  
  
 _“If you don’t change out of those shorts and into some pants I’ll have them around your ankles by lunch time.”_ His voice is an audible growl even through their comms, bringing Mac to a screeching, full-body halt. He stares straight across the pool at Russ, who’s still lounging back against the back of the whirlpool, arms spread to either side to give Mac a perfect view of his beautiful chest and the dark hair curled on it.   
  
He blinks, still reeling from the whiplash of the turn their conversation about his cocktail preferences has taken, watching as Russ leans forward slowly, reaching up to lift his dark aviators onto the top of his head, pushing the long hair out of his face. “W-what?!”  
  
Intense brown eyes zero in on his face, and oh - Mac knows that look, he knows it very well indeed. _“You heard me, Angus, you look positively indecent. How anyone thought this was a good idea is beyond me, but we’re going to have a very serious talk about adding this to your regular wardrobe-”_  
  
Mac sputters, casting a confused glance down along himself. Sure, he _is_ wearing a rather form-fitting pair of white shorts, but Riley said nothing else went with his shirt so he’d taken her at her word, and surely they can't be that-  
  
Apparently suddenly having developed the powers of mind-reading, Russ groans, slowly rising out of the water. _“Yes, love, they_ are _that tight. If I tried to fit a hand in there right now, I highly doubt I could. We need to either get you changed or get you in my bed now, my sanity can’t take much more.”_  
  
Still somewhat reeling from this turn in events, Mac only looks back up again when his boyfriend is standing directly in front of him, all tan skin and dripping wetness, which is doing exactly nothing for his thought process. He swallows thickly, lets Russ remove his hat for better access. “I, oh, I mean, if you- _What is that?!_ ”  
  
It’s Russ’ turn to blink down at him in confusion, lips moving soundlessly to form a question as Mac throws his arms up in a flurry, gesturing in the rough direction of his boyfriend’s crotch. “What - you wear speedos?!”  
  
Russ pouts visibly, leaning forward to press a quick kiss into the corner of Mac’s mouth. “I happen to think they’re very comfortable. Why, do you not like them?”  
  
Mac groans, cheeks burning as he can’t seem to draw his gaze away from the offending object. “No - I mean I don’t not like them, I mean - why do you look hot in them?! People don’t look hot in _speedos!_ ”  
  
Russ chuckles, a dark, raspy sound that has shivers running along Mac’s spine and the naked skin of his arms, pebbled with goosebumps even in the hot tropical air. His boyfriend leans in to connect their lips, Mac’s hands snaking up his powerful, glistening shoulders feeling the muscles ripple underneath-  
  
He breaks away with a low whine, staring up at the wide-blown pupils of Russ’ eyes. “Alright”, he agrees breathlessly, “bed it is.”  
  
A ditzy grin breaks out across Russ’ bearded face, and he slaps at Mac’s ass with a winning laugh. “Let’s go then, you’re up front! I’m watching your ass all the way back, sweetheart, some sights are meant to be savoured.”  
  
“Why can’t _I_ watch _your_ ass?!” - “Because I called it first, and it’s more fun.” - “Bollocks. And, you know, those speedos really don’t hide _anything_ -”  
  
Somewhere in their corner, Riley and Desi share a commiserating glance, having turned off their comms long ago. They’re just lucky things are slow-going at the moment, otherwise Matty would be whooping some asses.


	8. MacDoc Prison (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 2: “You look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat.” + macdoc
> 
> contains: prison sex, choking, dirty talk and hints at Murdoc's literary ventures (he totally writes self-inserts ok)
> 
> I really like macdoc. I just do. and u can rest assured more prompts for them are coming ;)

_This is where I turn around and go back home_ , Mac thinks to himself.   
  
His hands are shaking inside their pockets, black baseball cap pulled low over his face, just to give him plausible deniability in front of his team. Not that he’ll need it, if all goes as planned.   
  
Walking into the black site where they keep only the most dangerous and volatile of prisoners is... disturbingly easy, actually, though that might just be due to the fact that no one actually knows he’s even here. He snuck into the server room to upload one of Riley’s homemade viruses that’ll loop the camera feeds in his part of the prison for the next three hours, giving him more than ample time to get what he came for. And hopefully walk out again.   
  
_I can’t believe I’m compromising national security just because I want to - what, see_ him? _Because someone that may or may not be Murdoc left a note on my doorstep? This is insane._  
  
Mac reaches his destination. He unlocks the door.   
  
The figure inside turns around leisurely, obviously expecting a guard or someone from prison staff - but as soon as he lays eyes on Mac, he freezes, and then a wide, unsettling smile that raises all the hair on his arms and makes goosebumps break out over Mac’s skin blooms over his face.   
  
“Oh, what a pleasant surprise - can it be? Angus, paying lil’ old me a visit?”, Murdoc purrs, dark eyes fixed on Mac’s face in that characteristic stare, just a tad too intense to pass as entirely normal. It has Mac shivering, though in what, he doesn’t know.   
  
Painfully aware of the fact that the door behind him has locked again, and that even though Murdoc is only wearing his red prison jumpsuit he doesn’t need to be armed to be horrifyingly deadly, Mac swallows convulsively.   
  
Murdoc chuckles, raising his hands in question. “Though, I’m not sure to what I owe this pleasure - and I think you may have overlooked something, Boy Scout.” He mimes trying to pull his wrists apart against invisible handcuffs before it devolves into the most chilling jazz-hands Mac has ever seen.   
  
He’s starting to feel light-headed. “That’s, uh, that wasn’t an accident”, he mumbles, voice raspy with something that doesn’t quite qualify as fear. Murdoc’s eyes light up. “Is that so? Well, if that isn’t interesting. You know, darling...” He takes a small step forward, but it’s still enough to drive Mac flat against the glass door, breathing heavily. “That makes one wonder, why? Have you finally decided to kick the bucket in the most dramatic manner possible? Or...” With one large step, he’s looming right over Mac, boxing him in against the locked cell door, faces barely an inch apart. “...maybe you got my letter.”  
  
Mac stares up into dark, almost black eyes, breath puffing out in fast, hot clouds against Murdoc’s lips. “...why?”, he finally whispers, as the assassin frowns at him.   
  
“Why what, Boy Scout? Why the letter? I think you know perfectly well, it’s... well, it’s fairly self-explanatory, if I may be so forward.” His voice is little more than a dark purr, one that has shivers crawling down Mac’s spine. “No, no, I don’t think that’s what you’re really asking. I think you mean... _why are you here._ ”  
  
 _I don’t know_ , Mac wants to say. Instead, he leans up to press their lips together.  
  
It all happens in a flash ( _it doesn’t, he remembers vividly every brush of skin on skin_ ), and before Mac knows it, they’re tangled together naked on Murdoc’s narrow slab of a bed _(low growling in his ear you look delicious Boy Scout deft hands undoing the red jumpsuit)_ , Mac covered by miles of undulating muscle covered by heated skin, as gun-calloused fingers play his body like a finely tuned instrument, tweaking nipples and pulling hair, dipping into-   
  
“Oh, Angus”, Murdoc moans, staring down at his already wet fingers that easily sunk into Mac’s loose and prepared hole, brown eyes burning deeper marks into him than those teeth or even nails ever could. The assassin lines himself up to push inside slowly, both of their eyes fluttering as he finally slides home.  
  
Pressing himself flat against Mac’s prone form spread out underneath him, Murdoc starts to work into his body with slow, well-aimed thrusts, Mac’s toes already curling against the rough sheets. “I don’t think you know what you do to me, _Angus_ ”, he growls, keeping Mac’s wrists pinned to the mattress securely, the iron pressure scrambling every attempt at a coherent thought. “If we had the time I’d spread you out for me, just like this, and take my time the way a work of art like yourself truly deserves - maybe tease two or three or four orgasms from your body before I even fuck you, until you cry for me, darling. God, you’d look beautiful like that, tear-stained cheeks and swollen cock, blushing all over... I’ve seen it many times, dear, I see it every night when I go to sleep all on my lonesome.”  
  
A couple of harsh, well-aimed thrusts have Mac mewling, drawing a low chuckle form Murdoc as he presses a wet line of kisses al along his throat. “But we don’t have the time”, he whispers. “So for now, I’m not going to fuck you like you deserve, _but how_ _you want to be fucked - like a dirty whore.”_  
  
The last part of the sentence comes out in a ferocious snarl, as an iron band in the form of Murdoc’s hand suddenly wraps around his throat, driving Mac’s hips up into the cock splitting him open, lips trying to move soundlessly on a mewl.   
  
“And can I just say, darling”, Murdoc pants, dark eyes glittering against the grey concrete, hips finally pounding into Mac the way he wants them, “As I’ve told you in that letter, you look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat.”


	9. MacTaylor Bath (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 69: “Come here, baby, let Mommy/Daddy take care of you.” + mactaylor
> 
> contains: Spearhead AU (but mild), ftm Mac, bathtub sex, sleepy soft bois, daddy kink
> 
> between us im just gonna put it out there that russ would make a great sir :)

_Just one more step. Just one more step. Just one-_  
  
Mac stumbles against the solid oak door in front of him, still slightly off-kilter from the embarrassing little half-step he’d taken without realising that the staircase was already finished and he was stepping into thin air. He pushes sweaty strands of blond hair out of his face with a deep sigh, right hand already patting his pockets for his keys.   
  
It takes several tries to jam the thin metal into its lock, and if someone happened to walk by this very moment - not that anyone else lives in this building, mind you - he’d probably look like he’d had one too many pints at the bar. While his body does ache something awful, the reason for that is the tumble he took into a pile of bricks that morning, not alcohol.   
  
Finally, he manages to get the door to swing open, more falling than stepping inside if he’s really honest. He tries to push it closed again, but his arms are weak and jelly-like, not to mention bruised to all hell. Mac lets his weight drop back against it instead, feeling it swing closed as he sags against the heavy wood.   
  
Mac knows he should move, but walking up a two flights of stairs and then manoeuvring the front door open took all his remaining energy, so he lets his head loll to the side and concentrates on just remaining upright while he leans against the door. The dulcet notes of some classical violin piece float through the air somewhere a few rooms into the penthouse, and the familiar smell of _home_ hits him far harder than anything else has today, instantly draining all the tension from his body.   
  
He doesn’t even hear the footsteps nearing him until a gentle, calloused hand wraps around his jaw, rough fingertips just touching upon his neck. Mac’s eyes flutter open on a deep inhale, revealing a face he knows better than anyone.   
  
Kind, brown eyes twinkle back at him, from a handsome, bearded face, hair freshly trimmed and surprisingly soft to the touch, as Mac knows. Full lips are quirked in a tiny smile, although an undertone of worry draws a crease between well-shaped eyebrows.   
  
“Hello, darling”, Russ’ low voice murmurs, a balm to Mac’s overexerted mind. He sighs deeply, and then strong arms are wrapping around his body in support while he finds himself drawn into a kiss that lasts almost a full minute, as they get lost in the easy, soft slide of lips against each other.   
  
Russ separates their mouths slowly, still keeping their foreheads pressed together, thumbs stroking carefully over the thankfully unbruised skin on the small of his back. “How was your day, love?”  
  
Mac snorts tiredly, blinking to bring his partner’s face back into focus. “Terrible. Ate a pile of bricks. You?”  
  
Raising a concerned eyebrow, Russ starts easing some of Mac’s weight into his own arms. “Well, you’re just getting all the best sights London has to offer, aren’t you”, he sighs, visibly tamping down on a lecture about risk-assessment and Mac’s personal safety. “Mine was far less exciting than yours, I’d imagine, the only pile of bricks I ate was the figurative one of discussing grenade shipments with MI6.” Mac snorts, and says something witty in retort - or he thinks he does, probably, because when he blinks and looks back up at Russ his boyfriend is only wearing a thin towel around his waist and he can hear water running from the bathtub’s faucet in the background.  
  
They make quick work of Mac’s dirtied and stale clothes - or mostly Russ does, Mac really only has to raise his arms and step out of his underwear before he’s led to the gigantic bathtub that could fit fit at least four people comfortably.   
  
He sinks into the hot, steaming water with a low groan, immediately snuggling back into Russ’ chest. Mac almost wants to fall asleep like that, with his boyfriend’s chest rising and falling rhythmically against his back while his fingers draw lazy patterns into his stomach, but he can’t quite manage to return to that warm and floaty place. There’s an itch underneath his skin, an itch he can trace back directly to its source of Russ’ naked skin against his own, his soothing scent after a whole day without it, and the erection pressing insistently into his hip.   
  
He mewls softly, eyes fluttering against the soft heat curling in his stomach as he squirms on Russ’ chest. His boyfriend makes a low soothing noise, left hand trailing up along the line of Mac’s sternum until it traces faintly across his jaw, tilting his head to the right so he’s looking directly into warm brown eyes.   
  
“What is it, love?”, he murmurs throatily, beard scratching over the bare expanse of Mac’s jaw with every word. He whines, a low, desperate sound, and grinds his hips back against the swell of Russ’ cock.   
  
His boyfriend chuckles softly as his hand slips down between Mac’s leg, ghosting over his sensitive cock. “Come here, baby, let Daddy take care of you.”  
  
That’s all it takes for Mac to give himself over completely to his boyfriend’s capable hands, legs parting slowly underneath the water until Russ’ knees can wedge underneath his thighs, splaying him wide open for his second hand to slip down into the heat of Mac’s body. He rubs slow circles into Mac’s cock, steadily dragging two fingers against his inner walls.   
  
It’s _good_ , it’s so good, just being able to lie there and have Russ take care of him after his horror of a day, but as Mac clutches at the muscled forearms moving with the motions of his daddy’s hands between his legs, he has to blink back tears of frustration because he wants more.   
  
“ _O-ooh-!_ Russ, please - _daddy_ , fuck me, _please_ ”, he near enough sobs, and then Russ is sliding into him with a low groan, a white-hot brand of pressure parting Mac’s insides until he’s speared open, jaw slack as he gasps into the steam-filled air.   
  
They rest like that for a heartbeat, sinking into the feeling of Russ inside Mac, chests rising and falling in tandem, and then Russ digs his heels into the bottom of the tub and starts grinding up into Mac, flared mushroom head of his cock dragging over that spot that makes him see starts with every move.   
  
“ _Fu-uck - Angus_ , god, you’re so good, so good for daddy, so pliant and open - _fuck baby-_ ”  
  
Mac inhales a lurching breath, head turned so he’s staring directly into the molten brown fire of Russ’ eyes as he clenches down around his daddy, cock twitching underneath clever fingers.   
  
_“Lo-ove you, I love you, I love-”_


	10. MacDalton Bondage (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 79: “Look at you, grinding against everything, you’re really desperate for it. Aren’t you?”
> 
> contains: Bondage, sex toys (vibrator, ball-gag), Jack Dalton’s potty mouth, multiple orgasms, negotiated kink, thigh-riding, ftm Mac
> 
> I've had a bit of a writer's block today but rest assured that everyone who's left a prompt will see it completed <3

“...so I think a chestnut brown would go better with the rest of the style overall, don’t you agree?”, Jack muses, licking his thumb to turn the page of his interior design magazine. A small sound comes from his left, and he smiles indulgently.   
  
“Yeah yeah, I know - I’m the bathroom tile salesman here, fair enough. But it’s gotta be perfect for Bozer, man! Now that Leanna’s back, he’ll be looking for something long-term, and if there’s one thing you don’t want it’s having to look at a bathroom you hate on the toilet every morning for the rest of your life.” Another small whimper, along with a low shuffling sound. It takes every inch of Jack’s training not to squirm in his seat, posture perfectly still as he’s perfected over decades of-   
  
_Beep. Beep. Beep._  
  
With a loud groan, he hits the stop button on his phone’s timer, springing up off his armchair within an instant as he turns to the figure laid out along the couch beside him. And by god, is it a sight to see; Mac, tied up with black rope crisscrossing all along his body in a lying position, hands fastened securely behind his back as he gives muffled cries of desperation around the ball-gag in his mouth. And between his legs is the reason for that; a black vibrator with an extension for both his holes and cock, set to its second-highest setting and attached to the rope, so secure no amount of wiggling or pushing will get it to move even an inch.   
  
“Fuck, baby”, Jack groans, hands pushing his sweatpants back down along his legs to reveal his rock-hard cock. The sight of teary, clouded blue eyes fluttering at the sound of his voice as another high-pitched whimper escapes around the gag almost drives him over the brink completely, has him taking hold of his cock and pleasuring himself hard and fast until it spills all over Mac’s beautiful face.  
  
And isn’t that an idea for later.   
  
Instead, Jack kneels by his baby’s side, smoothing a gentle caress along his tense jaw while he turns off the vibrator. “Sweet lord, almost fuckin’ _broke_ me, Angus”, he rasps out darkly, hands already pulling at the part of the rope keeping Mac’s legs immobilised. “Fifteen minutes almost killed me, darlin’, I can’t imagine how sore you must be - but you did so well, baby, so good, I’m so proud of you-”  
  
He keeps up the steady stream of praise as he slowly manoeuvres Mac into a sitting position, now minus the vibrator and leg rope. Practiced fingers unwind the ball-gag from around his voice, and Jack moves between spread knees as he carefully sets it aside, mentally already tallying up his aftercare checklist. But-  
  
 _“Jaa-aack- please, Jack-”_  
  
Jack freezes momentarily, caught off guard by the sheer _desperation_ in his partner’s voice. Sure, Mac tends to get a little loopy when they indulge in this side of their sex life, but - four orgasms usually have him hoarse and voiceless, dropping off within seconds, not _crying out_ like that.   
  
“Shh-shh, baby, Jackie’s here”, he coos, pushing down on the icy twist of fear in his gut that he’s gone too far- “What’s wrong baby, what’s wrong?”  
  
“Need to - need - I _need_ you”, Mac slurs, jaw still somewhat clumsy in forming the words after being kept open for so long, and Jack’s thumbs still in their stroking motions across Mac’s tear-stained cheeks. He feels his eyes go wide.   
  
“What-” - “O-only came twice, J-Jack, you di- you didn’t say I c-could, and-”  
  
Fuck, he’s pretty sure his cock just twitched at that.   
  
“Baby”, Jack whispers, voice throaty and hoarse, trying to speak past the pressure starting to build anew in his entire body, worst of all in the live-wire hardness of his dick. “I need you to give me a colour, baby, tell me how you’re doin’, and I’ll take care of you, alright?”  
  
Mac’s sobbing out his answer before Jack’s even properly finished his sentence, a broken declaration of _green, Jack_ his voice cracks on halfway through, cherry red lips still so slack and _open-_  
  
Not even a full ten seconds later Jack’s leaning back into the couch cushions, heartbeat pounding through his cock, steady hands keeping Mac straddling his thigh as he mewls out a soft noise of confusion, staring down at Jack pleadingly through half-lidded eyes.   
  
“Ja-ack - what-”  
  
“You’re gonna ride my thigh, baby”, Jack tells him lowly, fingers clenching around the sharp jut of his hipbone, eyes drawn to the contrast of the black rope still crisscrossed all along his upper body, keeping Mac at Jack’s mercy. He blinks down at his boyfriend dizzily, mouth already moving to form a question that Jack cuts off at its roots. “Them’s the rules, baby, you only came twice, you’ve got to give me one more before I can fuck you -” And at that Mac jolts into motion, hips dragging the wetness of his cock along Jack’s tensed-up thigh, like he’s said the magic words - and god, maybe he has, judging by how Mac’s eyes are already crossing. He has to purposely close two fingers in a tight grip around the base of his cock, otherwise he’d have come on the spot at the sight.   
  
“God - fuckin’ hell, darlin”, Jack groans, rolling his shoulders through the shivers that tease down along his spine, just to hear the way Mac whimpers when he sees the muscles shift underneath his skin. “Look at you, grinding against everything, you’re really desperate for it. Aren’t you?”  
  
“Y-yeah - oh _fuck_ , Jack - I am - I’m - please - I’m your _slut,_ I’m _yours_ -”  
  
“Shit, darlin’”, Jack gasps, hands clenching around his cock and Mac’s hip respectively, feeling the way the wiry hair on his upper thigh drags against his cock, almost dripping wet with the mess of lube and come between Mac’s thighs. Mac, whose grinding movements are growing increasingly desperate, so much so that Jack has to use both hands to keep him steady as his hips stutter, head thrown back, back arching against the black rope-  
  
 _“Fu- Ja-a-aa-ck-!”_


	11. MacTaylor Shirt (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 66: “If you leave the house wearing that then the second you get back home I’m going to bend you over that bed.” + mactaylor
> 
> contains: Spearhead AU, dirty talk, nipple piercings, brief cameo by Eileen Brennan, ftm Mac, really bad Irish accents (sorry in advance)
> 
> ok so this is part of an au where instead of joining the phoenix after the army, Mac is picked up by spearhead and its attractive owner instead :) and big big credit to kel for this, I honestly can't remember how it came to be but it's definitely up there with my faves <3 there might be more of this in the future, it's all still up in the air for now!

Adjusting the lapels of his dark grey suit-jacket, Russ throws one last assessing glance at himself into the floor-length mirror of their walk-in closet. It’s an elegant and flattering combination, the navy tie on a light pink shirt finished with a grey vest and suit; he’s even broken out the nice cufflinks for this and his favourite pocket-square that Angus had given him for their last anniversary, embroidered with their initials.   
  
Speaking of Angus, he can hear the faint sounds of his partner puttering about in the living room, thankfully without any loud bangs or explosions added in; the thought brings a small smile to his face as he remembers yesterday’s attempt at pancakes for dinner that had almost resulted in having to call the fire department.   
  
_Better go make sure he’s not sneaking back into the kitchen again_ , Russ thinks, chuckling quietly as he exits the closet into their adjoining bedroom. He’s just about to make for the wooden panel door that separates their bedroom from the rest of the penthouse when it slides open, revealing his rosy-cheeked partner who smiles at him as he slips through.   
  
“Hey babe”, he breathes, all crooked, charming lopsided smirk, blond hair slicked back with some gel, wearing-   
  
Russ’ brain goes offline. He blinks.   
  
Angus is wearing a sheer burgundy shirt, expensive silk by the looks of it, that simply _clings_ to his body, completely and utterly see-through and hiding nothing, including the twin diamond piercings twinkling at Russ teasingly from his chest, the ones he got him for his last birthday-  
He doesn’t even realise his partner has moved towards him until the faint touch of a warm hand to his jaw registers, and then he looks up into mischievous blue eyes that tell him everything he needs to know about his irredeemable _tease_ of a boyfriend.   
  
Without a single word, Russ wraps both of his hands around Angus’ jaw and pulls him into an open-mouthed, desperate kiss, swallowing the little gasp of surprise that escapes his boyfriend’s throat, fingertips digging along the bottom of his skull as he buries them in slicked blond strands, undoubtedly bringing the entire do into disorder. He revels in the feeling of that slim body melting against his, fingers scrabbling for hold against the hem of Russ’ dress pants, but doesn’t let Angus catch a single full breath.   
  
Breaking the passionate slide of their mouths against each other, Russ leans back only a scant few inches, staring transfixed at the way Angus’ pupils have blown wide and dark as he pants hotly over his spit-slick lips.   
  
“Darling”, he growls, low and dangerous, eyes dropping down to the teasing glimpse of sheer silk against fair skin, “If you leave the house wearing that then the second you get back home I’m going to bend you over that bed.”  
  
Russ can feel the impact his words have in the lurching inhale of air that goes through Angus’ chest pressed against his, the weak flutter of his throat just barely brushing the skin of his pinky - and the low whine that slips out into the air between them, barely more than a breathy little _haa._  
  
“Only - only when we get back? You’re losing your touch, old man”, Angus rasps, tongue swiping teasingly across the swell of his lower lip. Russ’ breath catches, cock already starting to fill out and push against the inside of his pant-seam, and... _this is where I pull back. We need to get going if we still want to make it, only half an hour left-_  
  
“Oh, bloody hell”, he groans instead, tears his phone out of his pocket, turning their bodies so Angus’ back is to the bed. Blue eyes widen, and as Russ presses _call_ on Eileen’s contact in his phone, Angus giggles, already fiddling with the button and zipper of his dress pants.   
  
“What - seriously?”, he whispers, disbelieving and high-pitched in excitement, despite the fact that his hand is wrapping around his boyfriend’s hard cock. “What about the gala?”  
  
“Ye- _oh fuck!_ \- yes, good grief, I own the bloody thing, surely I can cancel an event every now and then-”, he gasps, mouth slamming shut as the call is accepted a feminine voice introduces herself as _Brennan, speak_ in a thick Irish lilt.  
  
“H-hey, Eileen”, he stutters, left hand shooting up to cover Angus’ mouth, who immediately licks a hot, wet stripe over his palm, the _tease_. “I, uh, I’m afraid I’m going to have to call in sick for me and Angus tonight, seeing as uh - we’ve caught a rather nasty bug, and constantly coughing up phlegm at dinner certainly wouldn’t reflect favourably on Spearhead-”  
  
 _“Oh, feckin’ spare me an’ go back teh fingering yer boyfriend”_ , she groans, and Russ sputters even as Angus bounces back into their mattress, spread out on his back as he grins up at him, already undoing his own tight-fitting dress pants. “I - that’s - I mean we’re not-”  
  
Eileen snorts in affectionate disbelief, heels clacking distantly over the line. _“Yeh, sure, don’t worry - ah’ve got this covered, Rusty”_ , she retorts, ending the call right after. Russ stares at his silent phone for a moment, before he shrugs and turns back to his boyfriend, who’s moaning softly and working three fingers into himself as twin diamond studs twinkle up at him through burgundy silk.   
  
“Come on, sweetheart”, he hisses, pushing his boxers down along his thighs, “on your front like I told you.”


	12. MacTaylor Buckingham Palace (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 91: “Aww, is my little princess/prince getting shy?” + mactaylor
> 
> contains: ftm Mac, tomfoolery. No members of the royal family were hurt in the making of this... uh. whatever it is. im sorry fjdsfjdsfjd

_“Go go go-!”_  
  
Suppressing a gasping breath, Mac scrambles to his feet, half-dragged into standing by the firm grip Russ has around his biceps. He doesn’t turn around to glance back at where they’d tumbled out of the bushes, focused only on getting away from the faint shouts as fast as possible.   
  
“Riley?!”, he pants into his comm, running across the tiny cut of open grass sprawling out before them alongside Russ. “What’s next?”  
  
 _“Alright, up ahead of you is a window - climb in there, quickly and quietly, and hide out for a while”_ , she retorts over the faint clacking sounds of her fingers flying across a keyboard. _“Jack and Desi are drawing them off your trail, but they’ll need some time.”_  
  
Mac’s too strung out to reply immediately, almost crashing frontally against the light wall in front of them in his haste before he and Russ get to work breaking into some poor guy’s house. Finally, they manage to wrench it open, and Mac swings a leg over the ledge-  
  
Only to freeze, half-straddling the windowsill as he stares open-mouthed into the room he’s about to enter. Large, opulent decor, gigantic build, park-sized backyard...  
  
 _“Riley Davis”_ , Russ hisses behind him, voice low and panicked. “Are you telling us to hide in the bloody _Buckingham Palace?!_ ”  
  
They exchange a look of frantic disbelief, even as they hear the faint sound of tires screeching, loud shouting and Riley sighing. _“Look, I know it’s weird - but trust me, I looped all the cameras in your wing, they won’t even know you’re there. Unless you stay where you are and get caught by the guards, so_ move.”  
  
Cursing quietly, Mac scrambles back into motion and drops onto a hardwood floor as quietly as he can manage, only waiting for his boyfriend to slip in after him before they’re pulling the window shut again.   
  
_“Alright”_ , Riley’s tinny voice says in their ears, almost making Mac want to flinch with how loud it sounds to him in the stark silence of the palace. _“I’m turning off your comms until you can come out again. Stay safe.”_ And then it’s just Mac and Russ.   
  
For a long few moments, neither one of them says a single word, wide blue eyes staring into equally wide brown eyes, bottom lips gradually starting up a heavy quiver - and then they’re both clutching desperately at their mouths, exerting all of their willpower on not breaking out into bellowing laughter.   
  
“Bloody - _fucking_ \- Buckingham Palace”, Russ wheezes quietly, dropping back against the wall next to Mac, whose entire body shakes with suppressed laughter.   
  
“What - what kind - where even _are_ we?!”, he gasps, leaning heavily into the warmth of Russ’ body to his left. A quick glance around the room tells him - well, exactly nothing, except that it’s definitely not in daily use. There’s some chairs and a fireplace, a table or two and a book case, but all of it seems to be more for decorative purposes than anything else. _And ridiculously fancy_ , Mac thinks a little hysterically.   
  
“Dear god”, Russ pants, finally somewhat calm, head turned so he can smirk down at Mac. It’s an unexpected gut punch of heat, seeing his wild, unrestrained grin, the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead that shines in the moonlight, his brown hair all messed up and falling in his face, eyes blown wide in excitement-   
  
“Do you wanna hear something crazy?”, Mac breathes, eyes flicking wildly in-between Russ’ slightly parted lips and his eyes. “I - _fuck,_ I _want_ you.”  
  
His boyfriend gapes at Mac, mouth dropping open and closing again as he tries to come up with a response. “I - _now?!_ ”  
  
Mac’s stomach twists up in a swirl of liquid heat, chuckling breathlessly at the low whisper-hiss of Russ’ voice. He slides shaky hands along the firm expanse of his boyfriend’s chest, until he can link his fingers behind a slightly damp neck, drawing Russ down until their faces are but millimetres apart.   
  
“Aww, is my little prince getting shy?” He can’t entirely suppress his shit-eating grin as he coos it, Russ’ eyebrow shooting up into his hairline, even as he’s already gripping at Mac’s hips to press their bodies close together. “You’re serious”, he murmurs, lips brushing against Mac as their hot breath mingles. “You’re actually serious - sweet lord, Angus, you _minx_.”  
  
And then his mouth closes over Mac’s in a desperate, wet clash of lips, hands pulling at the other’s belts as they undo them, all the while moaning against each other. When Russ finally manages to push Mac’s underwear past the swell of his ass, the blond immediately finds himself crowded against the wall, groaning and whimpering at the feeling of his partner’s beard scratching against his bare skin.   
  
“Hold on - let me -”, Russ gasps, suddenly stepping back, bare-assed with his cock hanging out between them. He reaches up, wrapping long fingers around the solid brass candelabra mounted on each side just above Mac’s head, testing... testing their give? But - _oh_. Mac’s eyes widen in understanding, and he feels his breathing pick up speed when he realises just what Russ plans to do.  
  
“Alright”, he grins, hands sliding back underneath Mac’s thighs, “hold on tight, sweetheart, we’ll have to be quick.” And then he’s hefting Mac up against the wall in one quick movement, whose hands shoot up to grab hold of the candelabra and steady himself as Russ presses his thighs flat against his upper body, exposing his lower half without Mac’s pants getting in the way. He wedges his upper arms underneath his thighs, wiggling to spiting his right hand before he reaches down and smooths it over his cock.   
  
Russ leans in to press their lips together again, swallowing Mac’s high-pitched mewl, the head of his cock a hot brand of pressure against his entrance. He pushes in slowly, gently, the improvised “lube” not really doing much to ease the slide - but it doesn’t matter, not when Mac’s head is spinning with adrenaline, barely able to feel the intense friction that’s almost too much.  
  
Neither of them last long, as Russ fucks Mac against the wall with slow, hard strokes, panting wetly over his lips with the occasional swipe of his tongue against Mac’s own. The air between them is charged with static, fizzling over Mac’s skin, hands clenching around the cold copper candelabras, being fucked open on his boyfriend’s cock-  
  
Russ buries his face in the side of Mac’s neck and comes with a long, drawn out groan, and the warmth blooming inside of him coupled with the wet scratch of Russ’ cock-hair against Mac’s own cock is enough to set him off as well, squirming and gasping as he twitches helplessly, unable to really move, his entire weight held up by his boyfriend’s shaking arms.   
  
They drop to the floor together in a heap, breathing hard into the other’s mouth, still stifling giggles as Mac presses little butterfly-kisses to his boyfriend’s lips.   
  
“Fu-uck”, he gasps wetly, clenching down reflexively around the still hard cock inside of him. “That-”  
  
“That was amazing”, Russ finishes his sentence, grinning mischievously as he rolls them over, going to pull out of Mac when his eyes dart upward briefly- “Tha- _fuck, that’s the Queen!_ ”  
  
Mac squeals in terror, lurching upwards and turning his head, legs still bent towards his chest with Russ’ cock inside him to stare straight at a portrait of the Queen looking down at them with a stern, disapproving gaze.   
  
Silence permeates the room before they’re both breaking out into muffled, painful laughter, Russ’ cock finally slipping out of him.   
  
“Shit, _Russ_ , don't _scare_ me like that!”, Mac gasps, snorting at his boyfriend’s face who’s wiping actual tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry”, he hiccups, dropping onto his side next to Mac with a heavy groan. “Sorry baby, I couldn’t help myself.” He sighs deeply, shooting a considering look at the painting on the far wall.   
  
“Don’t worry though, she won’t tell.” And then he has the gall to fucking _wink_ at it, setting off a new round of hysterical laughter.


	13. MacDoc Mirror (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 71: “I’m gonna fuck you in front of the mirror, I want you to see how pretty you look when you’re spreading your legs for me.” + macdoc
> 
> contains: a smidge of what's technically treason, honestly not much else Murdoc’s very well behaved in this, mild choking, ftm Mac, reinforcing positive self-image!!!! through sex, some deliberation on murdoc’s murderous tendencies in relation to sex but it’s brief and non-graphic
> 
> look. murdoc's love language is b&e and guns. this contains one of those. I'm just surprised the other one didn't feature, but mayhaps I'm growing mellow in my old age.

As soon as he steps through the door, Mac drops his duffel bag to the floor with a dull _thud_ , fingers growing slack with exhaustion. It’s been a long week of catching cat-naps on the Phoenix jet in-between major arrests, and he wants nothing more than to fall face-forward into his bed and sleep for twenty hours straight - after showering, at least.   
  
With a deep sigh, he starts a shuffling trek in direction of his bathroom; everything appears as if in hyper focus to his tired mind, and his depth perception fluctuates between the ground seeming two inches and two miles away.   
  
Mac manages to get his grimy, sweat-stained clothes off more by accident than design, stepping into the shower for a brisk rinse-off and somehow not braining himself in the process. He doesn’t stay under the only lukewarm spray for more than a minute, turning it off again almost as soon as it’s been turned on. Somehow, throughout the entire process, he doesn’t notice.   
  
It’s only when he’s stepping out again, clumsy feet on his fuzzy shower mat and dripping merrily onto the floor that he freezes, eyeing the far wall in confusion. Or rather, the far mirror. _Was that always there?_  
  
And then he notices the dark figure looming behind him, and almost does brain himself.   
  
Mac jumps with a surprised yelp, heart pounding and arms flailing, only saved from an extremely painful tumble by warm hands shooting out and grabbing onto his waist, steadying him just in time. He drops into the offered embrace with a low groan, still breathing hard and fast.  
  
“Goddammit, Murdoc! You didn’t think that maybe warning a guy would be nice?!”, he pants, leaning back to get a better look at the assassin, who looks very comfortable in his black sweats. Once upon a time, the sight of such a seasoned killer so obviously at home in his space would’ve sent shivers of horror down Mac’s spine, but now, his chest flutters warmly for a very different reason, skin tingling where Murdoc is still holding onto his naked hips. Chocolate brown eyes settle on Mac’s face, and he almost leans in for a kiss, until he realises that Murdoc is... frowning?  
  
“I was waiting for you in the living room. You didn’t even hear my whistle”, the assassin grumbles, looking for all the world like a disgruntled cat. Mac snorts out a disbelieving breath, hands sliding up along firm biceps until they meet the black material of his shirt. “Well, I’m sorry I spoiled your surprise, I only just got back from Budapest and I’m beat.”  
  
Murdoc’s frown only deepens. “I know, you were supposed to be home yesterday morning - I asked Matilda.” Mac’s eyebrows shoot up into his slicked-back hairline. “Asked?”  
  
With a petulant little eyeroll, Murdoc finally pulls Mac close to his body, skin warm and soft to the touch. The blond melts into it with a small sigh, uncaring of the way they’re starting to stick together because of the water already.  
  
“Alright, the asking might have involved some hacking”, Murdoc admits readily, the words half lost in the gentle touch of their lips. Whether Mac’s indifference to the open admission of what probably counts as treason is a testament to his open-mindedness or criminal compliance he doesn’t know.   
  
“So”, he whispers when they break apart again, eyes still closed, “what’s the re-designing all about, then? Did you get bored waiting for me?”  
  
Murdoc chuckles, a low, rich sound that reverberates through Mac’s very bones, breath puffing out hotly against his lips. He doesn’t even shiver against the cool, non-steamed up air, not with his furnace of a boyfriend pressed against him. “Oh no, darling, that was supposed to be my special surprise for you.” Calloused fingertips dig into the skin at the small of Mac’s back, driving a quiet gasp from him.   
  
“R-really?”, he asks, eyes fluttering open again to meet that intense, brown gaze. He can feel Murdoc against his abdomen already, the as of yet gentle press of a promise.   
  
“Yes, my darling Angus”, he rasps throatily, raising his right hand - _his dominant shooting hand_ , Mac notes distantly - to grip Mac’s jawline in a reverent hold, stroking the rough skin of his thumb across the arch of Mac’s cheekbone. “I was only waiting for the opportunity, dear. You see, Angus, you are... the most _beautiful_ thing I’ve ever laid eyes upon.” It drives Mac’s breath right out of him, the melodic rhythm of that low voice, the matter-of-fact way in which Murdoc says it. “But somehow, you don’t seem to believe that.”  
  
Faster than even a blink of Mac’s eye, Murdoc spins him around to face the mirror, drawing his body back against the assassin’s. He hooks his chin over Mac’s naked shoulder, nuzzling into the side of his neck as he draws a deep breath, the slightest promise of bare teeth worrying over the skin there.   
  
Gently, Murdoc grips Mac’s chin in his left hand, turning his head until he’s staring at their reflections head-on, mind reeling between the erotic display and the distracting slide of a warm hand over his swollen cock.   
  
“Look at us, Angus”, Murdoc whispers, and Mac _does_ \- takes in the hidden display of muscles rippling in those arms that can hold him down so easily, the possessive hold Murdoc keeps on him, meets those dark, wide-blown eyes in the mirror. And then he looks at himself.   
  
Murdoc’s right; Mac has never thought to apply the word “beautiful” to his own person. He’s always thought of himself as perhaps conventionally attractive, but never to a degree to stand out, not with his quirky personality, coltish limbs and social ineptitude. But he’s never seen himself like this before. His fair skin is flush with heat, muscles in his thighs tense in anticipation, hands clenching in the empty air like he desperately wants something to hold on to, blue eyes electric and fever-bright-  
  
“Yes, Boy Scout”, Murdoc hisses, low and forceful, sliding two fingers into where Mac is aching and empty. Calloused fingers slide across the cut of his jaw, thumb ghosting over Mac’s kiss-swollen bottom lip in a gesture that looks almost worshipful. The appendage slides inside until it presses down on his tongue, pinning it to the bottom of Mac’s mouth and guiding his jaw into a slack gape, drawing Mac’s eyes to the teasing glimpse of his throat, the stretch of his lips around Murdoc’s finger...  
  
“I’m gonna fuck you in front of the mirror, I want you to see how pretty you look when you’re spreading your legs for me”, Murdoc tells him, withdrawing his fingers from Mac’s body to trace a wet line along his skin, the evidence of Mac’s pleasure mingling with the droplets of water still clinging to his skin. “I want you to see exactly what I see, what I dream about each night, why no matter how many times you give yourself over to me it will never be enough. I want you to look at us, Angus, and I want you to understand...” Wet fingers close around his left nipple in a harsh pinch, Murdoc’s right forearm stretched across the heaving expanse of Mac’s chest like a brand, at the same time as he draws his other hand out of the blond’s mouth to wrap it around his throat instead. Blue eyes widen, lips convulsing on a silent gasp, but all he can do is feel the way his throat flutters weakly against that warm hand, wondering dizzily as he always does whether the jack-rabbit hammer of his pulse against Murdoc’s skin is what drives the assassin’s hips to grind forward into the swell of Mac’s ass, or if it’s the sight of Mac squirming, or the willing submission.   
  
“I want you to understand exactly what it is you do to me”, Murdoc finishes his sentence, dark eyes almost black with pure need, staring unblinkingly at Mac in the mirror, breath puffing out hotly against his skin. Mac’s toes curl against the cool linoleum floor, cock twitching visibly against the empty air.  
  
For the first time in maybe ever, he thinks he understands just what Murdoc means by that.


	14. MacTaylor Grease (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 32: “Kitten, don’t make me tell you twice.” + mactaylor 
> 
> contains: not a whole lot honestly it's pretty tame except for the very potent mental image of Russ Taylor as Danny Zuko. imagine it. picture it. especially that little curled strand of hair. ndnfajdndsd.

Cursing quietly, Mac lets the blond strands gathered in his left hand fall back into their natural placement. His right curls around the flowery hairpiece in abject frustration as he stares at his reflection in the mirror. Who knew that styling your hair beyond gelling it back sometimes could be this complicated?

Two raps sound at the bathroom door, and Mac sighs as he places the hair clip back onto the counter next to the wide assortment of fancy grooming products. “Come in!”

The door creaks open to reveal his partner’s grinning face peeking through, twinkling brown eyes meeting Mac’s own blue ones in the mirror. “Everything going alright in here, love?”

Mac can’t help the way his lips twitch into a small smile as soon as he hears the melodious British tang of Russ’ voice, waving in the direction of his straightened hair. “I can’t get the hairstyle right, these clips are driving me crazy!”

Russ chuckles lowly, sliding into the room to step up right behind Mac’s body, close enough that Mac can feel the warmth of his skin even through the layers of clothing. “Let me try?”, he murmurs, and Mac nods soundlessly. 

He wants to say something, but then Russ is leaning forward to reach around the side of Mac’s body, and his entire thought process zeroes in on his partner’s... _everything_. The tanned skin of his muscular arm glows underneath the bathroom light catching on the sparse, wiry hair on his forearm. Mac’s eyes trace the length of it up to the rest of Russ’ body, catching a glimpse of his clothes in their reflection; an all-black ensemble of fabric that’s so tight Mac thinks he can make out each individual ridge of muscle cording his partner’s body, the black muscle tee with minimal sleeves tucked into skin-tight skinny jeans. Russ’ dark brown hair is combed and tucked carefully into a gelled-up messy quiff. 

Mac isn’t sure he remembers how to breathe right now. 

“All done”, Russ whispers, hooking his chin over Mac’s shirt-clad shoulder with a faint smirk, the salt-and-pepper scratch of his beard just whispering over the tingling skin on Mac’s neck. The blond has to suppress a full-body shiver as strong arms fit around his waist, forcing his eyes back up onto their combined reflections in the mirror. 

He’s taken aback by how good they look together, and not just Russ in his bad boy greaser getup. Mac’s hair, which he’d blow-dried and straightened just a few hours ago, almost brushes at his shoulders in its full length, shiny and smooth thanks to one of Desi’s conditioners. While he didn’t go all the way out on bangs, the front strands kept back on each side by white floral hair clips (Jill’s, this time) look far less ridiculous like he’d feared and far more stylish, probably thanks to Russ’ extensive hair-styling experience. Mac’s shirt is white and shortsleeved, tucked into the waistband of pale, pastel-yellow dress pants held together by a white belt both raided from his boyfriend’s closet and thus a bit too big on him. 

“We look - we look really good”, he says, almost as if in disbelief, blinking at their reflections. Russ laughs, a soft, throaty sound that makes something warm bloom in the centre of Mac’s sternum. “Oh, just wait till you see the leather jacket, love.”

“Leather - _leather jacket?!_ ” For the umpteenth time that day, Mac’s brain seems to short out, jaw dropping as his lips part in a gobsmacked expression of surprise. _God, Russ as Danny Zuko is so unbelievably hot._

“Why, thank you, Angus! You make a lovely Sandy yourself”, his boyfriend coos, pressing several smile-shaped kisses into the side of Mac’s neck as he rocks them from side to side, nosing into the heat spreading across Mac’s cheek at the realisation that he’d accidentally voiced his thoughts out loud. “Y-yeah, well”, he stutters, linking his fingers with Russ’ across his stomach, “I’m just amazed you had this exact shade of yellow lying around in your closet just like that.”

Russ’ laughter rumbles through both their frames as he grins mischievously and winks at Mac in the mirror before spinning his boyfriend around and immediately crowding him in back against the sink, hands gripping onto the cool marble right by his hips as he uses the slight advantage the few extra inches he has on Mac give him. “Well, just so you know”, he purrs, pressing their hips together so Mac can feel the bulge that’d been growing ever since he’d first stepped into the room against his own, “you can still change into that black greaser outfit from the last song, it’s waiting in the closet.”

Mac groans softly at the suggestion, sliding his palms up along the miles and miles of naked skin to clutch at Russ’ biceps, almost completely certain that his boyfriend is flexing more than strictly necessary for his benefit. “I think”, he whispers, smirking up into half-lidded brown eyes and that self-satisfied grin on Russ’ face, “that I’m going to save that for just you when we get back home.”

He can’t entirely suppress the giggle that slips past his throat at the face of shock Russ makes, even as he feels the way his boyfriend’s hands twitch at Mac’s side. And then his beard is scratching against the smooth skin of Mac’s own jaw as Russ takes his lips with a low growl, moaning against Mac’s slick and open mouth as he proceeds to turn his brain inside out with his tongue. 

Mac draws in a shaky half-moan-half-breath as Russ breaks the kiss again with a wet gasp, hands clutching at Mac’s suit covered waist, foreheads still pressed together. His voice is little more than a dark rasp when he speaks, pupils blown so wide it almost makes his eyes look black. “On your knees.”

Mac blinks up at his boyfriend dizzily, wanting nothing more than to press into the delicious friction between their bodies and follow his order, heart pounding wildly in his chest like it always does when Russ gets like that. But then they also need to get moving, and if they show up too late in less than pristine condition everyone will definitely know that-

“Kitten, don’t make me tell you twice.”

Russ doesn’t have to. Mac drops to the floor faster than he’s taken his next full breath.


	15. MacDoc Rescue (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 78: “Shh, don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you.” + macdoc
> 
> contains: physically only petting, the implications tho oooooh boy. capital m Murdoc doing some murder, kidnapped character, mentions of chloroform, mentions of a sliiiight gun-fucking kink in potentially disturbing circumstances, Murdoc thinking about doing his two favourite things at once which is a little (a lot) disturbing when you think about it, don’t think about it
> 
> ndndjdjdkjs. ok. look. leave me a comment and I will love you forever. literally my favourite thing I cry at every single one. and if you do you'll definitely get more shit like this.

Mac never saw them coming. 

All he felt was an iron grip closing around each of his upper arms, a sharp smell flooding his senses and something white moving at the edge of his vision. And then he’d slumped right into unconsciousness, in the middle of the Phoenix Foundation’s parking lot. 

Even now he can’t see much of anything due to a rough cloth material laid across his eyes. He’s fully alert, the effects of the chloroform long since having worn off aside from the faint pulsing at his temples that still persists. He has no idea where he is, or who took him; sometimes he’ll feel a harsh grip fisting in his hair to direct his head, and sometimes they’ll grab him by his arms hard enough to leave a bruise as someone barks the same sentences out over and over again in angry German. 

And then the shots start ringing out.

Mac freezes instantly upon hearing the first burst of three successive shots, fired close if not immediately outside of the door of the room he’s being held in, if he had to guess. His hands hesitate on the halfway-picked lock of his handcuffs, fingers clenching to hide the paperclip between them as the single guard still left inside curses, muffled screams and almost a dozen more shots sounding from outside. Mac can’t tell whether they’re all from the same gun, can tell fuck all if he’s being honest, but there’s no more screams now. He doesn’t know if that’s a good sign. 

A metallic screech tears through the room, and he flinches in surprise. His fingers almost shake too much to hold the paperclip properly. His guard keeps one hand on Mac’s right shoulder, his left from the feel of it, and if whoever just shot their way through the rest of his buddies is on Mac’s side he might be able to get the jump on him, disarm him blindfolded if he’s extremely lucky-

_And if they aren’t on your side?_

Mac can hear the harsh, panting breath of his guard somewhere above his head, his fear a tangible, cloying thing that hangs heavily in the air. He shouts something in German, and then everything seems to happen at once - the quiet click of a safety coming off close to Mac’s ear, a single shot almost immediately after, and the hand on his shoulder vanishes. 

And then his blindfold is torn off. 

“Boy Scout”, Murdoc groans, hands pressing into Mac’s cheeks, fingertips digging into the skin so hard it almost hurts. His jaw is set in a harsh line of worry, and his dark brown eyes are piercing in their intensity, lids torn so wide it looks almost grotesque. Murdoc breathes harshly through his nose, scanning Mac for any visible injuries. He twists the paperclip one last time and lets the handcuffs fall to the ground with a loud clatter, hands flying up to grip at Murdoc’s leather-covered biceps as the assassin drops their foreheads together. 

“H-hey, babe”, Mac mumbles, eyes fluttering as warm lips ghost over every last inch of his face in desperate butterfly-kisses, tension finally draining out of his body. “How - how did you find me?”

Hot air puffs out over Mac’s chapped lips as the callouses of Murdoc’s hands drag along his skin to wrap lightly around his neck, pressing into the pulse points on each side gently. “I got a ransom video from some familiar faces, decided they needed to be paid a little visit”, Murdoc retorts quietly, hands starting to tremble ever so lightly against Mac’s neck. “Angus... did they hurt you?”

HIs voice is pure burning steel, yet ice cold at the same time. Mac shivers against him, knows his partner can feel it vividly. It shouldn’t make his stomach twist like that, nothing about Murdoc should, but- well. 

He manages a weak grin. “No, no, I’m fine. I swear. They drugged me and got a little handsy here and there, but I’m fine.”

Mac doesn’t know who makes the first move, but one second Murdoc’s eyes are fluttering closed and he sags in relief, and in the instant he’s lifting Mac bodily out of his chair, hands sliding into the back pockets of his jeans as he snarls into Mac’s mouth, tongues twining together in an almost brutal of lips and teeth and spit and moans. 

He wraps his legs around the leather coat covering Murdoc’s waist, though it’s a feeble grip at best, relying almost entirely on the strong grip of capable hands digging into his ass through layers of fabric. Mac genuinely can’t tell if they’re moving or not, head spinning with belated adrenaline and the heady smell of cinnamon and blood that always seems to follow Murdoc. His hands slide into long brown strands of hair, as his back suddenly hits a wall and Murdoc breaks their kiss to half-suck-half-bite a purpling mark right above Mac’s pulse point. 

“Oh, _fu-uck_ , Murdoc-”, he whines, head dropping back against the solid concrete behind him, blinking wildly through the frantic pounding of his heart. He’s rock-hard in his boxers, there’s no denying that, can feel the answering hardness pressing against him so deliciously, knows Murdoc won’t let him catch a single breath after the scare they’ve had. 

Murdoc leans back to swipe his tongue across the mark he’s just left, almost purring with satisfaction. The hidden metal outline of his gun presses against the underside of Mac’s thigh, and he wonders dizzily whether the nozzle would still feel warm on his tongue. 

“Shh, don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you”, the assassin coos, pressing as loving a peck as a kiss involving a Murdoc-grade amount of teeth could pass as to Mac’s lips, grinding their clothed erections together firmly as Mac paws weakly at his shoulders. God, he’s so tempted, so very tempted, but-

“P-please do - but - _ah_ \- maybe not here, lots of bodies-”, Murdoc frowns, as if the thought hadn’t even occurred to him, visibly having to work to suppress an eye-roll as if Mac’s the silly one here. It has him snorting in breathless laughter, fully aware that on anyone else the mere thought would horrify Mac, whereas here he has to work at convincing himself not to just let Murdoc get on with it and take him right then and there. “Plus, if law enforcement or more of their buddies come knocking, it wouldn’t be very convenient to shoot at them while you’re still inside me.”

Huffing quietly, Murdoc dips his head in concession, re-grips underneath Mac’s thighs to lift him back into his arms. He carries him out of the compound like that, stepping around the occasional splatter of dark red that does nothing to abate the fire in Mac’s gut. 

He’s not entirely sure he’s meant to hear it, but in the unnatural stillness, Mac can’t help but pick up on the only half-conscious mumble Murdoc tries to muffle in his shoulder. 

_“Well, if that isn’t an idea for later.”_


	16. MacDoc Gym (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No. 72: “Maybe I should leave you like this, that way anyone who wanted to use you could have a go with you. Would you like that?” + macdoc
> 
> contains: dirty talk, ftm Mac, rope bondage, ceiling suspension, anal hook, ring gag, talks of voyeurism and some threatened murder like Murdoc is known to do
> 
> ndfjkdnfdj okay so this was posted as the 78 ask which I accidentally posted instead of 72, so on my Tumblr these two are reversed as a result of my Brain Rot. but anyways enjoy some macdoc as I make my way through the rest!

_An hour ago  
Phoenix Foundation_

_Mac jogs down the corridors of the Phoenix foundation, his text conversation with Jack still open on his phone screen in his hand. He near enough slithers around the corner, avoiding Jill and her morning latte by inches only as he shouts a frazzled “Sorry!” over his shoulder._

Phoenix gym right now hoss, need your assistance. 

_That tone can mean one of three things: a) Jill has dislocated his shoulder again, and he just passed her on the way here, b) someone or something else has dislocated his shoulder, or c) Jack’s dislocated something else. It’s always the joints._

_Mac skids to a halt in front of the gym doors, bursting through them and immediately calling out Jack’s name that reverberates off the walls in a worried echo. With a frown, he scans the room. No sign of life, except for a strange rope hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the boxing ring that fills Mac with anything but confidence. What on earth has his partner gotten-_

_A warm body envelopes his from behind, and then a low baritone ghosts over the bare skin of his neck, humming Home on the Range ._

* * *

_Now  
Still the Phoenix Foundation_

Mac can’t suppress the shivers wracking through his body, caught underneath the physical weight of Murdoc’s burning gaze. His skin flashes hot and cold at the same time, exposed for all the world to see as he kneels in the centre of the boxing ring, the only sound apart from his own harsh breathing faint steps drawing circles around him. 

“Oh, Boy Scout”, Murdoc sighs, stepping into his line of sight, dark figure clad in his usual black cashmere and leather even if he blurs through the tears obscuring Mac’s vision. “You are truly, indubitably, God’s greatest gift to this world.”

His voice is little more than a whisper, a reverent exhale of breath as he steps closer to Mac, who instinctively tries to tilt his heads backwards and look up at him. All it does is make him sway in place, brought off balance momentarily by the rope keeping him in place he’d forgotten in his rush to follow Murdoc’s movement. It draws a desperate whine from the back of his throat, turned guttural and gravelly by the cool metal ring gag keeping his mouth spread in a wet gape for Murdoc to use as he pleases. 

A quiet chuckle and a gentle touch of warm leather across Mac’s cheek has his eyes fluttering, a fresh set of tears spilling slowly across his cheeks. Murdoc’s gloves are still damp with Mac’s own come, sliding firmly along the splayed cut of his jaw until the assassin’s grip on his chin is firm enough to tug his face flush against the hard outline of a cock pressing against the seam of black pants. 

Mac mewls again, painfully aware of the warmth spread across his tongue pinned to the bottom of his mouth by the ring gag from where Murdoc’s already made good use of it. He can’t even properly _taste_ it, can’t swallow it down, can only kneel there and feel it cool slowly on his tongue. Mac is entirely at Murdoc’s mercy, suspended from the ceiling by rope and metal. 

“One of these days, I’m going to have you painted on your knees like this, my darling Angus”, Murdoc rasps, voice just as wrecked and rough as if he’d been the one to take a cock down his throat. Mac’s biceps shake against the back of his head, stretched upwards until the bend of his elbows leads back down to the wrists attached to the rope behind his neck. “Something this beautiful should be immortalised - it’s a moral obligation, really.”

Mac can feel dark brown eyes boring into the crown of his head, as those dangerous hands pull him even closer into Murdoc’s groin, forcing him to rely on the assassin and rope for balance, toes curling against the cold ring floor. 

The sound that leaves his mouth almost doesn’t sound human, garbled and desperate and animal in nature; electric shocks of gut-wrenching pleasure originating from the last anchor point attached to the rope, the slowly warming metal of a bulb-headed anal hook speared into his asshole. 

“Sh-shh-shh, my angel”, Murdoc coos, suddenly kneeling right in front of Mac on the floor and brushing the salty burn of tears away from his cheeks. He snakes one arm around Mac’s heaving ribcage, alongside the thick line of rope that keeps his upper body balanced and upright. The assassin drops their foreheads together as he takes some of Mac’s weight against his own frame, alleviating the dull burn between his shoulder blades that almost doesn’t register anymore. “Daddy’s gonna take such good care of his good slut, don’t you worry, love.”

He breathes against Mac’s mouth, hot and wet right over the white puddle of his own come, eyes pitch black at first glance and fixed right on Mac’s own blue irises. When Murdoc slides three fingers into where Mac is aching and slick already his callouses rub against the inside of his body, leather gloves lost somewhere in the fog of Mac’s mind. 

“You know, I’ve even got that toy on me that you like so much”, Murdoc whispers, even as he proceeds to drive any and all words right from Mac’s conscious memory with his fingers. God, but he’s _good_ at it too, knows Mac’s body inside out in a way someone like Murdoc never should. “My Angus deserves only the best when he’s letting me use him so thoroughly, right in the middle of his very own Phoenix Foundation like the depraved _cockslut_ he is.”

Mac can _feel_ Murdoc’s dark chuckle vibrate through his body every bit as much as he can hear it, pale skin blurring together with the whites of his eyes and the darkness of his pupils in his vision. “You really do need to upgrade your security, dear - it was almost insultingly easy to walk in your front door and set this up, I’m almost sad to see it go again when there’s so many ways we could have fun with this. Maybe I should leave you like this, that way anyone who wanted to use you could have a go with you. Would you like that?”

He shoves into Mac’s body hard and fast as he says it, grinding his cock against his upper thigh in an imitation - no, Mac thinks dizzily, in a promise - laughing breathlessly into Mac’s skin. The blond feels his thighs clench, entire body shaking, barrelling towards his next orgasm so fast it leaves him dizzy. 

“But no”, Murdoc sighs, “then I’d have to kill each and every one of them, I’m afraid, and I don’t think you’d like _**that**_ very much. Even if I would love to see how you’d take their cocks, whether your thighs would tremble as sweetly for those tac fellows as they do for me-”, fingers twisting, rubbing right where Mac wants them most- “whether your guard dog Dalton makes you scream as sweetly as I do-”, harsh words growled into Mac’s neck, eyes torn wide open to stare into dark eyes- “have them fill you over and over again until you’re dripping come-”, _he’s going to come he’s gonna come he’s gonna co-_

“And then make them watch as I turn you inside out on my cock, Angus, show them just how much you like it when I show them _who really owns you.”_

Mac screams as he comes, convulsing in Murdoc’s hold, eyes crossing and closing and tearing open again, until he’s falling and falling and falling with no rope to hold him and spreading his legs on his back while Murdoc slides back into him with a long, drawn-out moan, dragging two fingers through the come still inside Mac’s mouth.


	17. MacDoc Gun (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 27: “Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.” + macdoc
> 
> contains: daddy kink, gun fucking (though non-explicit), a big fat Please Do Not Do At Home though its murdoc and that's sort of a given
> 
> look okay murdoc just. I wouldn't like him irl but. I am very attracted to him. and so is Mac.

“Alright, hold on - almost - got - it - _yes!_ ”

The lock clicks open underneath Mac’s spare paperclip quietly, and he slides it back into his pocket with a quick glance down either side of the hotel corridors. He thumbs the comm in his ear and the door knob simultaneously, already pressing himself flat against the wood. 

“Alright, I’m about to go dark and enter”, he whispers, Riley’s uncertain voice sounding in his ear, though thankfully not accompanied by any attempts at convincing him otherwise from the rest of the team. They’ve more or less resigned themselves to his plan, then, good to know. 

_“Are you sure about this, Mac?”_ , his friend asks worriedly, Mac’s lips twitching into a tiny smile. “Yeah, I am. Don’t worry Riles, I’ll be just fine. Just take the target into custody and I’ll meet you at exfil.” And then he turns off his comm, pocketing it in his suit jacket before shouldering the door open. 

The inside of the hotel room is just as sleek and luxurious as the rest of it, with rich, dark wooden panels and gold trimmings everywhere, every handle and edge covered in shine polished to perfection. But the real object of Mac’s interest sits a little ways inside, facing outwards from the large window overlooking the plaza just outside the hotel. He lets the door fall in its lock behind him, heart pounding with no logical explanation but the man who still hasn’t acknowledged his presence. 

“For the fact that you’re always ribbing me about my home security, I’d have expected it to be more difficult to get to you than this”, he breaks the silence, voice cracking on the first syllable for all his efforts to the contrary. 

With a low chuckle, the dark figure turns around in his seat, and then Mac finds himself on the receiving end of one of Murdoc’s visibly delighted smiles, all sharp white teeth and threateningly intense eyes. “Oh, Boy Scout”, he coos, leaning back in his chair with the sound of creaking leather, “I knew it was you from the very second you entered the corridor - cameras on every corner, you’ll find.”

A smile pulls at the corners of Mac’s lips as he walks further into the room, stopping a few feet in front of Murdoc as he fights down the rush of blood that wants to bloom across his cheeks as well as his accelerated breath. He remembers a dark cell and another mission, almost a lifetime ago, _make something deep within them crawl_ \- and wonders whether Murdoc could see even then how close to the truth his words hit for Mac, even if slightly off-kilter in the exact kinds of shivers that crawl down his spine every time he finds himself as the sole focus of dark brown eyes. 

“So”, the assassin breaks the charged silence, raising his hands in an almost welcoming gesture. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His grin is sharp and dangerous, somewhere between that never-ending undercurrent of desire and actual danger. If Mac isn’t careful in his treading, the day might just end in a dead body after all. He takes a deep breath, and tries not to let himself get lost in the wild pounding of his heart. “I can’t let you kill that man.”

Eyebrows raising almost all the way up into his hairline, Murdoc chuckles lowly. He looks at Mac as if he were taking apart a new kind of puzzle, eerily similar to the way he looks when he’s pointing a gun at someone or turning a vibrator up another notch to see whether Mac can take another orgasm. “Is that so? Well, I’m afraid that someone else is rather invested in me doing just that. The 15 million dollar type of investment as well as a certain death sentence if I don’t.”

A giddy sense of relief rushes through Mac, and he has to work to suppress the smile that wants to come along with it. He knows Murdoc better than he should, and more intimately than he thinks even the assassin wants to admit to himself - if he’s arguing money like that instead of knocking Mac out, it means he’s open to negotiation at least, curious to see what Mac will do next. Unless he’s pretending, which is always a possibility with Murdoc. 

“Matty’s been asked by the Secretary of Defence himself to take the senator into protective custody, so unfortunately we can’t allow you to cash in on this hit. In exchange, we’ll keep that target off your back”, he proposes, voice steadier than he feels. Murdoc only smiles indulgently, and Mac mentally gears up for the next part of his plan - the one most likely to go off the rails. “What... what can I do to convince you otherwise?”, he whispers, softly as if he were divulging a sordid secret even if no one else can hear or even see them. 

The air between them changes immediately, Murdoc instinctively sitting up a little straighter, leaning forward as his dark eyes scan Mac from head to toe with unmasked delight. He’s breathing heavily, pupils diluted enough that it has Mac feeling weak at the knees, strangely vulnerable and authoritative all at once. Murdoc is a force of nature, one liable to follow Mac’s whims and wishes with great glee, but still dangerous and unpredictable at the best of times. He leans forward, leather creaking quietly with the movement, and when he speaks his voice is low and guttural, churning something warm deep in Mac’s gut even before his words register. 

“Say please.”

Mac feels his eyes widen, breath stuttering in his chest as he stares into dark brown eyes. His body moves faster than his brain can consciously process, lips forming the words like it’s the most natural thing in the world to follow Murdoc’s orders. “Please - please, _daddy_.”

Murdoc’s eyes flutter closed on a quiet groan, tongue curling into the roof of his mouth visibly through slightly parted lips, as if he could taste the words on his tongue. Mac feels a little like he’s having an out-of-body experience, eyes sluggishly tracking the assassins movements when he rises out of his seat in one fluid movement, all cat-like grace and coiled muscles. 

“It would take a much stronger man than I to say no to that, Angus”, he rasps, the advantage of his few extra inches becoming more starkly obvious the closer he moves. “I promise I won’t- _you-!_ ” 

Murdoc’s hands give an aborted twitch as he yelps in surprise, staring at where Mac is holding his prized Heckler and Koch instead the now empty hip-holster. “Now what are you doing with that, Boy Scout?”

Slowly lowering the gun between them, Mac gives his best innocent smile, eyes fluttering half-lidded the way he knows always drives Murdoc wild. “Call it... insurance”, he whispers, stepping back until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the king-sized bed, sinking slowly onto the mattress. Murdoc’s eyes follow his every move, tracing the drag of his favourite gun across the tight material of Mac’s suit as he presses it between his slightly spread legs, right up against his cock. 

“Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.” It’s little more than a throaty growl, Murdoc audibly teetering right on the edge of something Mac knows will definitely not feature in any after-mission reports. He laughs breathlessly, arching up into the delicious pressure of dangerous metal between his legs, suddenly feeling none of his earlier apprehension, completely lost in the thrill of their usual tug-of-war with such potentially devastating consequences. “But it’s so much fun, daddy”, he grins, watching with growing fascination how Murdoc pounces only to immediately stop short again, eyes wild and burning, lips curled in a snarl that really shouldn’t be making Mac’s cock twitch like that. 

Never has Murdoc looked more in love than he does right then, staring down at the barrel of his own gun pointed squarely at his chest by Mac’s fingers. 

“You know I don’t need that to be dangerous, sweetheart.” Mac laughs, a giddy, breathless sound, squirming in place as he spreads his legs further apart and flicks off the safety, trying desperately to keep his thighs rubbing together in search of friction. 

“I know, but I’m hoping you’ll use it anyway”, he purrs coyly, offering its handle back to the assassin, toes curling inside his dress shoes. Judging by the low rumbling sound of anticipation Murdoc makes, how reverently he takes the offered gun (Jesus Christ, Mac doesn’t even know if it’s _loaded_ or not), and how hard he is in his trousers, his suggestion is certainly under consideration. 

And then the matter of the mark in Phoenix custody becomes an entirely moot point between them, as well as anything outside the confines of Murdoc’s hotel room or bed.


	18. MacTaylor Begging (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 83: “Aww, poor baby, you want me to take care of it for you?” + mactaylor
> 
> contains: Spearhead AU, slight bondage, sex toys (vibrating cock-ring/anal-plug), Russ being a tease
> 
> the infamous prompt that I deleted twice in my dumbassery. not at all what it was at the start, but I got some fic ideas from the process so u might get to see that after all :)

Angus MacGyver loves his boyfriend. Loves him with a certainty and intensity that scares him a little sometimes, especially because of how fast they fell into one another. Russ Taylor appreciates him, loves him, challenges him - he makes Mac feel beautiful and strong and smart, like he’s the only thing that truly matters to the other man. Similarly, Mac does his very best not to repeat past mistakes of his other relationship, to keep the communication between them open and honest, and showcase his emotions freely. 

“Has - has a-anyone ever told you - _holy shit_ \- what a f-fucking wanker you are, babe?”

Russell, the bastard, actually laughs, a full-bodied-head-thrown-back-with-giggling-aftershocks type laugh, dark eyes twinkling completely remorselessly from his seat at the bottom of their California king sized bed. “They have, actually, as I’m sure you’ll be entirely unsurprised to hear”, he sing-songs, leaning back in his faux-leather armchair, thighs parted to ensure that Mac has a full-frontal, unobscured view of his sizeable erection and heavy balls, so close yet so far.

Blinking heavily through the increasing blurriness in his eyes, Mac pants, mouth slow and clumsy around his words. “V-very unsurp-prised”, he mewls, even as his fingers clench helplessly behind his back. 

God, where Russ even _got_ this toy from Mac can’t even begin to imagine. It’d be just like him to have something custom-made with the specific goal in mind of torturing Mac like this, endless vibrations paired with the inability to actually come turning his brain inside out, until even his breathing seems to adhere to its rhythm, shuddering inhales of increasing desperation as he fights off tears of overstimulation. 

Mac is tied to the headboard of their bed, tightly secured with the black silk restraints his partner adores so much. His cock, leaking so much pre-come it makes Mac whine at how wet he feels, has a vibrating black cock-ring nestled snugly at its base, loping around the sensitive skin of his balls back along his perineum, where it ends in a bulbed hook-like shape that presses up right against his prostate. No amount of wiggling or squirming will get the ever-present stimulation to lighten, never mind that Mac can’t move at all, thighs spread and immobilised with more silk rope that keeps his legs bent together at the headboard. 

“Oh, sweetheart”, he sighs, curling an easy hand around his rock-hard cock, large and straining and _delicious_ , brown eyes blown wide in arousal and half-lidded. God, he looks so good, with that smirk and well-groomed beard of his, bulging muscles and devil-may-care attitude- “You know what you have to say to end this, love. C’mon, can’t be that hard.”

His voice is deceptively soft and kind, but Mac knows his partner too well not to recognise the raw undercurrent of lust, the steel in his eyes. Russ Taylor may be one of the best damn operatives ever to come out of training, but he can’t fool Mac, not when he knows him better than even himself. Tonight, Russ wants him to _beg._

Mac whines deep in his throat, body jolting against the almost unbearable pressure. If there’s one thing that can be said about him, it’s that he’s stubborn to the point of vice, and a contrarian little brat to boot. Russ has certainly told him often enough, usually folds Mac over his knee alongside and spanks him until he’s a crying, blubbering mess, begging for _anything_ Russ is willing to give him. But this time, Mac has a bet to win. 

...whatever that was. 

The thing is, it’d be so _easy._ So enticing to say that one little word that will get him instant relief, even if it is just to see Russell break. Mac can see the tension in every inch of his body, how fucking hard he is just from watching. He only ever allows him a maximum of three strokes, breath hard and short, but every time he pulls off it takes more visible effort, almost having to unclamp his fingers from around the hot flesh. His partner is walking a thin line of absolute loss of control every bit as Mac is, and he can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to see that cord snap. Whether Russ would leave him tied up, maybe not remove the vibrator immediately, jack himself off all over Mac’s straining body and painting his pierced nipples a pretty white, or if he couldn’t wait any longer and just had to fuck Mac-

His head thumps back against the headboard, eyes watering on a low, desperate keen that escapes his mouth. God, he _wants_ so much, more than anything to give in, wants to feel Russ against him instead of just seeing him-

A low creaking sound draws his attention, and when he looks back to his boyfriend Mac shakes through what’s _definitely_ a dry orgasm. Russ has apparently had enough of his distanced heckling, and is crawling towards Mac on all fours, all sinuous muscle and predatory brown eyes, somehow still managing to make it look distinguished and sleek. 

He stops short just in front of Mac, sat back on the haunches of miles of naked legs, well-defined chest rising and falling with each drag of hot breath. God, Mac wants this man to pound him into the next fucking century. 

Russ lowers himself along the mattress, until his mouth is hovering just above Mac’s straining cock, the only sound cutting through the dead silence the low buzz of the vibrator, and the rush of blood in Mac’s ears as he watches with a slack mouth how Russ gets closer and closer to where he wants him most, mouth already parted just above the leaking slit- 

“Aww, poor baby, you want me to take care of it for you?”

Mac whimpers, toes curling and body twitching in frustration, pulling against the unforgiving smooth silk, and breaks so spectacularly it feels almost euphoric. Pet names have always been his weakness, and Russell knows that, especially when he says it in that dangerous rumble of his, breath puffing out over the head of Mac’s cock. 

This morning, Mac had promised Russ with a self-assured laugh that he wouldn’t beg. Now, he does just that.


	19. MacTaylor Tension (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 29: “Take it off. Slowly.” + mactaylor
> 
> contains: the 100 AU, tension coming to a boil, not a lot of porn tho
> 
> ok so. this one I was sitting on for soooo long searching for a place to put it. cause I really want to make this a thing, but ideally when I've finished baby don't hurt me and have the adequate mental space for it. multi chapters just take a lot outta me yanno

For as long as Mac can remember, he’s had problems falling asleep. On the Ark, the glaring absence of his father in their shared apartment made his mother’s death all the more painful. In the Skybox, he’d spent five months trying not to go insane. Down on Earth, there’s simply... too much noise.

Twenty-plus years of only the quiet hum of space and the occasional clink or clank to accompany his sleep have made Mac a somewhat fussy sleeper. It was bad enough when only his thoughts kept him awake, but fighting off outside stimuli along with the inside - well. At a guess, he’d say it’s just around one in the morning, and he once again finds himself sitting by the fire and staring blankly into crackling flames instead of snuggled in his, Bozer and Jack’s tent. And not for lack of trying.

Huffing out a frustrated groan, Mac twists long, spindly fingers together. His eyes burn with the need to sleep, and his entire body aches, but his mind just won’t shut off. After so many months off the Ark, he still can’t deal with the noise - or the memories.

He doesn’t even notice the quiet rustling of footsteps until another body drops down onto the improvised log-bench next to him with a quiet hiss. Mac turns to look at broad, calloused hands, visibly firm arms covered by a dark navy shirt, a bearded jaw-

He blinks in confusion, mouth moving clumsily around his next words. “Chan-chancellor Taylor?” The man’s lips twitch into a tiny smile, heat pulsing through Mac’s cheeks at the sight.

“I couldn’t sleep, and saw you outside. Figured you could use some company - and please, we’ve talked about this. Russ will do for you, Angus.” His voice is a pleasant rumble, deep and melodious and everything Mac shouldn’t find attractive, not on a man who _works with his father,_ for god’s sake. Almost _killed_ his father. Not that he can’t objectively see why he might have wanted to do that.

Worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth, Mac’s breath stutters in his chest, like it does every time he has to stand in front of Russ Taylor and paste together a coherent sentence. God only knows why, it’s not like he has any trouble being insubordinate with anyone else. “I - you shouldn’t have bothe- I mean that’s, uh, very sweet- very _nice_ of you-”

“Easy enough when the promised reward is your company”, Russ cuts through his nervous rambling, dark brown eyes a molten, liquid amber in the firelight. Mac’s mouth eases open, just the tiniest gap between his lips, barely a movement at all - and yet it draws Russ’ gaze, drops it down to where Mac can suddenly, viscerally feel his tongue resting on the bottom of his mouth.

A heartbeat passes. And then another.

Russ blinks, as if he’d only just now realised where he is, drawing a shaky breath that leaves more than just Mac’s face burning. Every instinct wants him to squirm in his seat, but - this isn’t the first time he’s noticed. Not by far. And everything about this is a bad idea, from politics to age differences and statuses to the complicated relationship dynamics that seem _glued_ to James MacGyver’s person. But, well... bad ideas might just be Mac’s fatal flaw. Or maybe that’s just Russ Taylor.

“I - Angus”, the man rasps out, suddenly so much closer than Mac had consciously realised. A broad hand ghosts over both of his, sliding in-between what should’ve been a death-grip with almost comical ease. With gentleness. It’s warm, hot, even, to the point where he doesn’t even register the heat of the fire anymore. “Please... tell me if I’m crossing a line. I don’t want to presume-”

“You’re not”, Mac gasps, almost breathless in his rush to reassure, can’t quite believe this is really happening. “Not at all, not in the least-”

He doesn’t quite know which one of them moves first, how his legs move at all, but the soft glow of fire and open skies becomes the more intimate darkness of Russ’ tent, the only source of light a small solar-powered lamp he flicks on somewhere between thumbing across the back of Mac’s hand and turning around until the air between them becomes hot with shared breaths, cloying and sweet with an unspoken promise.

Mac’s lips meet soft, warm skin, the warm puff of a surprised gasp travelling through the entirety of his body in the form of shivers that quickly abate into nothingness when Russ’ tongue slides against his and everything else melts right away. A firm hand cups the slope of his jaw, calloused thumb stroking across the arch of his cheekbone. Mac thinks he can feel every inch of bone Russ traces underneath his skin burn its way to the surface, because surely this kind of molten heat has to leave some kind of mark.

They pull apart slowly, reluctantly, lips clinging together for another fraction of a second, right up until Russ’ lips pull apart into a giddy smile. Or at least Mac thinks it is, his brain isn’t actually processing much beyond the sheer _richness_ of brown eyes, the breathtaking variation in shades-

“Angus, I want you to know that I have absolutely no designs on anything happening tonight that you don’t want”, Russ whispers, even as he curls a brand into the clothed skin of Mac’s waist, hand light yet heavy with hidden strength that Mac wants more than anything to feel taking him apart.

His fingers clench reflexively around Russ’ hipbones, feeling the shift of thick, corded muscles underneath. “And what if... what if I _want_?”, he whispers, feeling all at once incredibly out of his depth and in control, chest fluttering at the broken little whimper that the other man can’t quite suppress. Dark brown eyes close for several seconds, pressed tightly shut, as if needing to brace himself against some invisible force. 

“Then”, Russ whispers, finally, slowly walks them back to the rickety build of his bed that’s really more of a cot than anything, fingers pulling at the dark fabric of Mac’s Henley, “Take it off. Slowly.”

Mac does, underneath the intense scrutiny that burns like a physical touch, lowers himself into eager hands and a broad lap, lets Russ Taylor bend him back on his bed and draw shocks of sensation from Mac’s body that he’s never even dared dream of before, with calloused skin and the scratch of his beard and the wet slide of a tongue and-

And completely forgets all about politics, the stark difference in experiences, and especially his father. 


	20. MacTaylor Daddy & Sir (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 44: “Yes! I mean yes, Sir!” + mactaylor
> 
> contains: get-together, desi is a lil shit, dirty talk, artistic re-imagining of 5x01 (aka chaos slut meets "to think he thought I was your father")
> 
> nfdnfjdnfd. ok. cmon. we all thought it.

When Mac stops in front of the unfamiliar LA apartment door, it’s with great trepidation and more than a little disbelief. Most of that confusing jumble of emotions can be directly traced back to one Desiree Nguyen, though not in the way one might expect. This time, it has less to do with their horrendously failed attempt at a relationship, and more with the fact that she’s an absolute menace who takes great enjoyment in Mac’s pain and humiliation. 

Especially on their last exfil trip back to LA from Zurich. 

_Once the adrenaline of another successful escape has passed and Paula is sleeping peacefully on a jet couch, the grumbling begins. And oh, does it begin._

_“Unbelievable”, Russ mumbles to himself, arms crossed petulantly in front of his suit jacket. “To think that he thought I was your_ father _. Hmph. Dashing older brother, perhaps. You know, I’m really_ not _that much older than you, Angus.”_

_Mac sighs fondly, leaning back in his seat with his eyes fixed on the paperclip in his fingers. Although he can’t stop the way they keep being drawn over to the indeed dashing profile in his peripheral vision, in a way he never seems to be able to stop, no matter how hard he tries. “Yeah, ridiculous, isn’t it?”_

_And then, of course, because the universe despises Mac on a good day, a loud snort cuts through the jet, Desi and Riley apparently having picked up on their conversation on the way back from their own heart-to-heart. The two women plop down into their seats across from Mac and Russ, Desi with a shit-eating grin that promises nothing good, and Riley with a giggling exclamation of, “What, seriously?”_

_Shifting in his seat, Mac’s eyes dart over to Russ’ piqued expression, the pursed lips surrounded by salt-and-pepper hair. Sure, it’s a marker of the more or less single decade Russ has on him, but it’s also incredibly attractive. Distinguished, in combination with his well-chosen suits. Rugged, when he’s all tac-ed up. Inappropriate train of thought, on a jet with three other people present. “Yeah, that’s what Vince said when Russ went all bad cop on him. Though I suppose it wasn’t his exact wording-”_

_And then, because Mac is a rambling disaster when he’s nervous, has no brain to mouth filter, and info-dumps as a coping mechanism that’s completely automated at this point, he makes the mistake of recounting just that wording to his two friends. Only after the words have already left his mouth does he realise what he’s just created._

_“O-o-ooh”, Desi sing-songs, low and with a badly concealed note of malicious glee, “I don’t think Vince thought you two were related, honey.” Slowly, Mac looks up from the nervously mangled paperclip in his hands, and freezes. Because the grin on her face, paired with her words, has him realising just how Vince’s words could be interpreted in a non-traditional way._

What is your daddy’s problem?

_He doesn’t dare steal a single glance at Russ, not with how Mac’s heart is trying to punch its way right out of his chest. Somehow, against all laws of physics, Desi’s grin grows even wider, showing off a sharp row of teeth glinting wickedly in the low light. Riley’s mouth forms an o-shape of not surprise but delight, delight at Mac’s expense. God, why did he have to open his stupid, stupid mouth-_

_“I - I mean, that’s - I suppose it - don’t think the facts indicate - in any, uh, manner of speaking, that is-”, great, so Russ is a nervous rambler too. Mac sinks down into his seat, face flaming hot, when Desi delivers the killing blow._

_“Well, I can see where he was coming from, to be honest. Just so it’s been said, Taylor, no need to be jealous - he never called me that.”_

_Mac never wants to hear Riley’s laughter reach that level of screeching hyena-cadence again. And then he wants to die on the spot._

So yeah, that’s the circumstances leading to his current predicament - standing in the middle of his boss’ living room in awkward silence, facing the man himself.

“...I thought it might be prudent to talk”, Russ finally breaks the silence, and Mac gives a silent nod, not pointing out that they’d technically already cleared the air. About Codex, at least. In the Phoenix. Where stuff like this is usually talked about between _coworkers_. 

“Uh. Yeah. Good idea.” _Any smoother and you’d slip on it, MacGyver._ “I, uh - I’m sorry about Desi, she...”

“Had a point”, Russ interrupts, and Mac blinks because is he suddenly closer than before? And fidgeting? “I wasn’t sure how to approach this without crossing a line, considering I am technically your boss, but - not - not about the, uh, _daddy_ thing, I mean - ”

Once again, Mac’s mouth moves faster than his brain, or maybe his brain works faster than his filter. Either way, he has no explanation that doesn’t contain a wet dream or two for what he says next. “Why, would you prefer Sir?”

For one horrible, silent moment, he thinks he’s made a horrible mistake. And then, Russ is up in his personal space, walking them back until Mac’s spine hits a wall, hands clenching against a firm chest as he feels his own hips being tugged forward. 

“Yes, actually”, he rasps, so close Mac can count each individual speckle of bright amber in his dark brown eyes if he wanted to. “I do. Especially from you, _Angus_.”

“We should - _oh_ \- we should t-talk about this”, he gasps, unable for the life of him to focus on anything but the brain-melting contrast of Russ’ beard scratching over his neck, no doubt leaving red marks of irritation, while his lips press wet kisses all over, sucking at the skin so firmly each time he lifts off again he does so with a smacking sound. A muscular thigh wedges itself between his legs, and god, he really shouldn’t be this close to losing it already-

“We should talk about this, _sir_ ”, a low voice growls into his neck, sending a wave of shivers all through Mac’s being that fizzles out with static charge in his fingertips that he digs desperately into the muscle of Russ’ chest. His head thumps back against the wall with a low whine, trying to thrust up into the heavenly pressure of Russ’ thigh but unable to against the sheer ease with which the man keeps his hips pinned. 

“Tell you what, love”, Russell pants, leaning back up to stare unblinkingly into Mac’s half-lidded eyes, and he can’t help but wonder who in the name of everything holy gave this man the permission to lick his lips like that when he can still feel the wet imprints of his mouth slowly cooling on his neck. “We’ll talk about this, good and long and _hard_ , as much as you want - you’ll sit on your Sir’s cock, yeah, show me what a good boy you are, how smart and eloquent my darling is, how’s that sound?”

Mac’s mouth feels a little like cotton slowly floating apart, tingling with the painful absence of Russ’ lips, somehow missing a touch he’s never felt before with a fierceness that knocks him right off his feet. “Yes”, he gasps, knees buckling when firm hands flex on the small of his back in warning, dark brown eyes flashing- _**“**_ I mean yes, _Sir!_ ”

“Sweet lord, Angus”, Russ groans, dropping their foreheads together, and then he finally puts his mouth to work.


	21. MacDaltonTaylor Thong (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 81: “Is that a thong?” + macdaltontaylor
> 
> contains: thongs, references to quarantine, horny boiz
> 
> honestly I feel like im just out here living my hot girl fantasy and ur all along for the ride. buckle up people this shits gonna get crackier with each prompt

Quarantine in the MacGyver-Dalton-Taylor household looks something like this: a crater of scorch marks where Harry MacGyver’s house once stood. 

All jokes aside, between the three of them, that outcome is only narrowly averted each day. Jack honestly thinks that the main reason for that is probably the amount of sex they have - if they spend half their time getting their rocks off, that leaves approximately seven hours in a day for his boyfriends to play at crazy scientists, including snack breaks. And seven hours in a day for Jack to play at... well. Jack. 

On this sunny Monday afternoon, it just so happens that due to their considerably lightened workload - not much to do for a clandestine spy agency when there’s no clandestine spies in the field - they spend the day lazing around in the sun on the deck outside, solving a frankly terrifying amount of crosswords (Russ), scribbling suspicious-looking equations all over a loose bunch of sheets (Mac), and sun-tanning (Jack). It’s peaceful, much more than usual, and so sickeningly _domestic_. 

_That’s the life_ , Jack thinks, burrowing into the extra-fluffy pillows on his deck chair with a happy little sigh. _The craziness will pick up again soon enough, might as well enjoy this while we can._

It happens far sooner than expected, almost at the exact moment as Jack finishes his thought, in form of their doorbell ringing faintly in the background. He blinks himself out of his hazy almost-slumber, exchanging a fond look with Russ when Mac jumps out of his chair within an instant, mumbling to himself excitedly. He’s back in the house within a few long strides, almost skipping. 

“Think we should go make sure it isn’t a delivery of explosives or something equally as hazardous?”, Russ grins, stretching muscled arms over his head with a groan of satisfaction when something in his back cracks audibly. Jack forgets to wince in sympathy, too caught up in the way it makes his partner’s shirt pull tight over his pectorals and reveal a tiny sliver of caramel skin on his stomach - he’ll never get used to seeing Russell Taylor in lounge-wear instead of his suits, but he sure as well won’t get tired of it either. 

Nevertheless, he has a point, and so Jack forces himself up out of his chair. “You betcha, guvna - looked way too excited, he did”, he grumbles, heart skipping a beat at the way Russ’ face screws up in a laugh. Who would’ve thought they’d grow on each other so much? Certainly not Jack - only three months ago, the only thing keeping them from murdering the other at all times was Mac and his puppy eyes. 

Jack shuffles into the living room with Russ hot on his heels, finding their boyfriend already at the counter and spraying his package with copious amounts of disinfectant. It looks innocent enough; no metal container, no cooler, no giant skulls or exclamation marks posted over it. Just a regular package for clothing. 

“Alright”, Mac announces, carefully removing his mask and laying it down on the counter to reveal his signature lopsided smirk, “I’ll see you gentlemen around!” And then he’s off again, speed walking in the direction of their bedroom. 

Jack chuckles fondly to himself, turning to grin at Russ. The other man, however, is staring after Mac with a considering look on his face, eyebrows drawn up in a small frown. “Oh, c’mon”, Jack snorts, “What’s he gonna do with a bunch’a shirts?”

Slowly, the Brit turns around, eyebrows raised in a pointedly, and Jack feels his smile melt away. “Shit, you’re right”, he murmurs, following after his partner in a panicked stalk. 

They both come to a slithering halt in front of their bedroom door, wedged tightly shut. “Mac?”, Jack calls out loudly, followed up by Russell’s firm knock. “Mac, darlin’, everything Gucci in there? How about you open up for us real quick, huh?”

What follows is a low shuffling sound, a thump and a curse, before muffled footsteps near the door and it swings open against the inside, revealing a flushed face and messy blond hair. “You do know that it was open the whole time, right?”, Mac snorts with raised eyebrows. “And please stop saying Gucci, Jack. I’m never going to forgive Bozer for teaching you that.”

Rolling his eyes affectionately, Jack blows out a relieved breath through his nose. No soot or visible injuries; disaster momentarily halted, then. “Oh shut it, whippersnapper, I’ll use it as much as I like. Now what are we hidin’ in there, sweetheart?”

Blue eyes dropping own to the floor, Mac’s mouth opens slowly, hesitantly. “Uh, well, about that-” 

Jack feels his eyebrows raise up into his hairline, and a quick glance to his right tells him that Russ is thinking along similar lines. Mac is blushing, light cheeks dusted a pretty pink, and even though the sight certainly does have his heart squeezing in his chest, it also has Jack’s Mac-senses blaring in alarm. He’s _definitely_ hiding something. 

“C’mon, love, you can tell us”, Russ coos, inching closer to the door in hopes of getting close enough to put out whatever fire is already burning - Jack knows how this goes. “It’s alright, we won’t - _is that a thong?!”_

Jack’s jaw drops to the floor, and his mind into the gutter; for a long, heavenly instant, he loses all hold on coherent thought that doesn’t have anything to do with _Mac_ and _thongs_ and _Mac in a thong_. At any other time, the noise that leaves his mouth might have embarrassed him, but then Mac’s eyes shoot up from the floor again, glassy, wide-blown blue eyes, and Jack’s a lost cause. 

“Do you - you wanna see?”, Mac whispers breathily, the door already inching open, as if it’s even a question. “Sweet lord, Angus, do we - _of course_ , now would you please open that _blasted_ door already?!”, Russ groans, the first one through the door, panting heavily in anticipation over Mac’s disbelieving little giggles. Good god, Jack’s not going to survive this quarantine, not if Mac has actually gone ahead and bought a fucking _thong._

He seems to have, in fact, bought several of them; at least ten, spread out all over their bedsheets, in varying colours and materials. Sheer lace, soft velvet, shiny mesh - and when Jack turns to look at his partner, it’s to the sight of one of his Metallica shirts hanging tantalisingly off his smaller frame, paired with black lace. 

“Fuck, sweetheart”, Russ groans, reaching out to trace the outline of Mac’s soft cock through the flimsy material. Jack blinks through the fog in his mind, cock pulsing with what feels the collective entirety of blood in his body. And then, as if that wasn’t enough already, Mac winks at them and turns around, pushing his hips backwards to showcase the artfully draped bow that rests just above his tailbone. 

“Like what yo _\- oh_!” Mac squeaks in surprise before breaking out into tinkling laughter, wrapped tightly in Jack’s arms, and even just the feeling of naked skin against his jeans almost has him coming in his pants. 

He drops him onto the mattress unceremoniously, right atop the collection of underwear; Mac bounces off his front with a chuckle, looking back at them as he spreads his thighs apart teasingly. “I guess you do, big guy.”

In a rare occurrence, Jack is completely lost for words; can only watch as he fits a calloused hand around Mac’s right ass-cheek, torn between watching his fingers squeeze at firm flesh, that damned bow, or Russ’ hand mimicking his own around the other cheek. 

“Bloody hell, Angus, where you always like this or is it just quarantine?”, Russ moans, sliding two fingers underneath the thin strip of fabric that disappears between Mac’s beautifully sculpted cheeks. Jack, ever the team player, tightens his grip and drags the cheek in his hand to the side, exposing the twitching pucker to their sight. Mac snorts, arching his back into the movement, Jack’s mouth going dry at the sight. God, they’re all so _whipped_ for each other. 

“It’s a natural talent, Russell”, he says sweetly, tongue peeking out from behind pearly white teeth, the pupils of his eyes blown wide. “Now put yours on, boys. I bought enough for the whole class.”


	22. MacDocTon Competition (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 27: “Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.” + macdocton
> 
> contains: threesome, jack and murdoc being competitive bastards, spit roasting
> 
> nfsjfnddn ok so I've been napping a lot and apologise for the wait, but im getting back into it. honestly I probably put way too much thought into these and as a result it takes longer, but I hope you like it <3

If Jack had to describe Murdoc in one word, it would be this: the _nerve_. 

As in the nerve on that man, the sheer audacity of how he smirks at Jack, lips pulled into something that exposes far too many teeth; Jack can feel his own forming a snarl, feels the perspiration building on his forehead. But if there’s one thing he’s not going it do, it’s let the bastard one-up him. Jack’s going to _win_ this competition, and if it’s the last thing he does. 

“Had enough yet, mutt?”, Murdoc pants, staring Jack squarely in the face who laughs breathlessly, hands fisting into loose fists atop the sheets. “Keep dreamin’, buddy”, he hisses, pushing down on the wild grin that wants to spread across his face. Jack will deny this until the day he dies, but if Mac is a junkie for danger and adrenaline, Jack is at least on par with him if not worse. It’s exhilarating, staring death straight in its unhinged brown eyes as he spits in its face. Figuratively. They have a rule against that, unfortunately. 

Murdoc chuckles lowly, dark eyes glinting in the light of Mac’s bedroom. “The colour of your face says - other - wise”, he pants, planting one hand squarely on Mac’s stomach before he digs in his knees and _pounds_ into him, the harsh movements shoving him further onto Jack’s pulsing cock buried deep in his throat. It’s like a gut-punch of heat straight to his stomach, and he hunches over with a low gasp, trying desperately to keep from coming into the delicious, wonderful, _heavenly_ slickness of Mac’s mouth. 

He’s reminded of the main reason why he keeps his gaze focused on Murdoc's eyes the moment he catches sight of Mac’s prone body stretched out between them, trembling fingers fisted in the sheets so tightly it turns his knuckles white and bloodless, back arching into each thrust from either side, legs spread around the narrow line of Murdoc’s waist as he takes his cock like a damn champ. His throat is stretched out along the edge of the bed, head tilted to give Jack an optimal angle as he kneels over his face, the fair skin decorated with a myriad of both fresh and fading love bites.

He thinks he can even make out which ones were left by him, and which ones by Murdoc; identifiable mostly by how visible the imprints of teeth are, and how closely placed to Mac’s jugular or pulse point. 

“ _Fuck_ ”, Jack hisses, tracing thick, calloused fingers along where he can see his cock bulging out Mac’s throat, pressing down gently and pushing his hips further against the wet ring of lips stretched around its base just so he can feel himself move inside. It’s almost enough to make him forget about their bet, their stupid little competition about who can last longer like this, using Mac’s body between them, until the wet slap of skin on skin catches his attention again. 

“C’mon, Jackie-boy”, Murdoc moans, hands curled underneath Mac’s knees now, pushing his thighs into the sheets next to his ribs, enough that Jack has a perfect view of how his cock vanishes inside the tight, lube-slick ring of muscle of Mac’s ass. “Let go, old man, give dear Angus something to really suck on, and we’ll make official what we already know-”

Jack’s competitive, okay, and he’d be the first to admit that, but even he hadn’t known that it apparently extends to _this_ , the words lighting an entirely new kind of fire deep in his gut. He wants to come, he _needs_ to come, to see Mac’s beautiful, dazed blue eyes again, come trickling down over his cheek along his face, _Jack’s come_ -

“Oh, really?!”, he heckles instead, removing his hand from Mac’s throat again to see how dark brown eyes drop down to Mac’s throat immediately, a silent moan slipping past Murdoc’s lips as he watches how Jack’s cock shifts underneath Mac’s skin. “And I’m assumin’ that’s the fact that _Jackie-boy’s_ game‘s better than yours, huh, sweetie?”

“Keep telling yourself that”, Murdoc groans, pushing his hips flush against Mac’s ass and keeping them there as he circles his hips deep into Mac’s ass, drawing a broken, choked-up gagging moan from him, right hand flying up to push against the back of Jack’s thigh, the other palming between Murdoc’s shoulder blades. “See how sweetly he moans for me? He _loves my cock_ , Jack, was made to fit it, and the sooner you admit that the better for everyone, because I guarantee that you couldn’t make him scream like I can if you had a thousand years-”

“Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me”, Jack growls, feels hot goosebumps and trickling fire break out across his back, Mac’s fingertips digging into the skin of his thigh desperately, always begging for more, trying to push him deeper. Brown eyes fixed on brown eyes, he leans forward, until his face is only inches from Murdoc’s and he can feel the other man’s hot breath puffing out over his lips, how the movement of their hips pushes Mac back and forth between them. “Because if you do, you might not like what happens, you might just find out how good I can fuck our boy, how much he loves _my_ cock-”

“You fuck like you shoot, _darling_ ”, Murdoc spits, face pulled into a fierce snarl to mirror Jack’s, breath coming hard and fast, not that Jack’s any better. “And how’s that?”, he shoots back, cock pushing into Mac’s throat as hard and fast as he dares, warmth tingling and pulsing at the bottom of his spine in tandem with how the vice-grip tightens around his length. 

Pushing his face so close to Jack’s that the tips of their noses just barely touch each other, Murdoc hisses out, _“I - do - it - better - than - you.”_

The bubble in Jack’s gut bursts, so hard his vision whites out for a moment, eyes blinking open and closed desperately against the sheer force of his orgasm. His cock pulses deep into the back of Mac’s throat, muscles shifting around Jack’s shaft, so tight and wet, nothing else like it, except maybe the hot clutch of his ass-

He blinks the world back into focus slowly, whole body buzzing pleasantly with the soft tickle of post-orgasm-sensitivity, his mouth open and slack against Murdoc’s, moaning and groaning into the space between them. His eyes look dazed and unfocused, exactly like how Jack feels, and then his teeth close almost gently around Jack’s bottom lip to tug at it, pressing a sloppy kiss to his mouth before he withdraws. 

Jack pulls out of Mac’s throat slowly, arms shaky on the mattress, completely transfixed by how his length slips out of that beautiful, cherry-red mouth, how his throat constricts around a swallow as soon as he leaves it empty and wet with his come.

“Fuck, darling”, he hisses, wrapping his free hand around the bottom of Mac’s skull and gently tilting his head back up, smiling at the sight of half-lidded blue eyes and dried tear-tracks leading down his temples into his hairline. Mac’s chest is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, rising and falling rapidly as if he’d been the one to move so vigorously - though, Jack has to admit, being caught between him and the Doc like this is certainly exertion enough. 

“So who - _ah_ \- who wins this round?”

It’s a fair question - one that Jack has no idea how to answer, as he looks back and forth between Mac’s mouth and his lower half, Murdoc’s slowly softening cock already having slipped from his body. He frowns thoughtfully, goes to open his mouth without really being sure on what to say, when- 

“Me”, Mac cuts through the silence, voice husky and broken, trailing long fingers through the white puddle of come and across his limp cock on his belly loosely as he blinks hazily up at the ceiling between them. The corner of his mouth tries to twitch into a smile, lips still slack and relaxed. “Definitely me.”


	23. MacDoc Vampire (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 95: “That tickles.” + macdoc
> 
> contains: vampire murdoc sucking mac's blood, not that much actual smut but I wanna be careful with the content warning so it gets an explicit rating
> 
> I have soooo many promptsss still I'm- very sorry it's taking so long jfjsdjskd honestly I've been taking a lot of naps cause a bitch is tired

Mac grew up hearing stories about Murdoc’s kind. Gory, horrifying, bloody stories, around the bonfire at night, a tool for parents to scare their children into obedience; don’t go out at night, or the vampires might get you. Don’t walk alone through the dark, or you might never see the light again. Don’t enter that part of town; that’s their hunting grounds. 

At twenty-six, he knows better than to put any stock in most of those stories. What makes Murdoc dangerous, what raises the hairs on the back of people’s necks, isn’t his vampirism; though it certainly adds to it. And lying underneath him like this, hands pressed into the mattress in a cold iron grip, prone and spread out with nothing but thin air between them as he stares up into near-black eyes, it’s easy to forget that. 

_Don’t do this, don’t do that, avoid these places, don’t go anywhere alone at night_ ; Mac wonders dizzily what his grandpa would have to say about voluntarily putting himself into a vampire’s hands, a vampire’s bed, at a vampire’s _mercy_ like this. Asking for it.

He certainly knows what Murdoc has to say about it. 

“Last chance, Boy Scout”, he hisses, icy fingers flexing around Mac’s wrists. It took some getting used to, at first; how Murdoc always seems to run so cold, the presence of death impossible to ever truly ignore. The whites of his eyes contrast with the pitch-blackness of his pupils, an almost jarring sight. “In or out, _now._ ”

It’s an uncharacteristically clipped exclamation, as opposed to Murdoc’s usual flowery prose and long-winded metaphors, but Mac can tell that he’s hanging on by a fine silken thread as is. His chest is heaving against Mac’s with laboured breaths, staring at Mac like a shark that’s tasted blood in the water, and his fangs haven’t retracted in a good ten minutes, no matter how hard he tries. 

Mac swallows thickly, something that feels like fear’s cousin twice removed tickling at the base of his spine - despite his job and the constant threat of disaster hanging over their heads, he can’t recall another time where he’s been so keenly aware of his vulnerability, how breakable he is. Or another time where he’s wanted to feel it used against him so badly. 

Murdoc’s eyes trail the bob of his Adam’s apple, eyes glazing over in something baseline animalistic. Mac watches how his mouth grows slack, exposing razor-sharp fangs to sight, fangs he knows intimately cut through skin and muscle and tissue like warm butter. Hell, he’s _seen_ Murdoc feed; he’s seen him kill, in a calm, civilised manner, as well as on an unhinged rampage where he takes down anything in his path. His cock twitches against a cold, bony hip, and Mac slowly tilts his head to the side, exposing the tendon of his neck to the being above him. 

“I want this”, he rasps, low and guttural, thinks he can feel the arousal crawl in his belly like a living thing. It has a mind of its own, rearing up when Murdoc’s head drops closer to his skin, so close that it tickles in anticipation where he’s not quite touching him yet. “I want _you_. Do it.”

Once upon a time, Mac knows, Murdoc would’ve given just about anything to bring about his violent, painful death. He still dreams about it, sometimes, when he’s tucked tightly against Mac’s back and... not quite sleeping, but resting, one hand laid tightly over the firm beat of Mac’s heart inside his chest. 

On those mornings, he always wakes up to a hard length inside him and Murdoc pressing the flat of his fangs in-between his shoulder blades, moaning and hissing a promise into his skin over and over again. _I won’t let anything take you from me, Boy Scout, not even me._

Murdoc takes. 

His fangs sink into the side of Mac’s neck slowly, carefully, and it hurts, but Mac is too turned on to do anything but blink rapidly at the far-away wall of his bedroom, mouth growing slack on a quiet gasp of _oh_ , just like Murdoc’s moments ago. The incision is deep, deep enough that something animal rears up inside Mac, finally a sharp edge of genuine fear at the knowledge just how little he could do to protect himself in this position. But he forces his muscles to stay relaxed, knows that if he strains or struggles now he might just snap that last tendril of fragile control Murdoc keeps for good. 

Nothing could’ve prepared him for what follows next. 

Murdoc’s fangs slide back out of his neck, leaving behind an empty, pulsing space, and then he fits the cool ring of his lips against Mac’s neck, pressed so firmly to his skin it might as well be a concrete fixture. Mac genuinely wonders whether it’ll ever leave again, or if he’ll always feel its imprint, because it burns so strangely he can’t imagine anything else- 

And then he begins to suck. 

The logical part of Mac’s conscious brain fizzles out all at once, muscles drawing up tightly as he drives his hips up against Murdoc’s abdomen, feels the delicate bones of his wrists grinding together as the grip around them unavoidably tightens in response to his struggle, which is honestly more of a knee-jerk reaction than a genuine attempt to escape. Because even as he arches his neck, head twisting against the pillow, feels how Murdoc’s mouth doesn’t lose contact even once, unable to get away from the brain-melting sensation, Mac can think only one thing: _it feels good._

As if on autopilot, against any conscious effort of his still reeling and flailing mind, he feels his muscles begin to uncoil, one by one along the slowly softening lines of his body. He wonders if this is what Murdoc means when he claims to feel every last inch of veins and arteries in Mac’s body, that he could trace along their outlines in the empty air with sniper-like precision, because amid the floating disconnect between Mac and the world it’s like he’s suddenly grounded to the point of vivid awareness in his body, as if he could feel every single individual cell that makes him - _him_ , and all of them were vibrating apart steadily, electrified by the heat of Murdoc’s mouth yet unable to move- 

_Vampire saliva_ , he thinks, feels the vibrations of Murdoc’s moans vanish into his neck, like sound waves rippling all throughout his blood, a prime conductor for the heady feeling of whatever this is. He can feel how hard the vampire is, how desperately he drives his cock against Mac’s even if he’s starting to lose all other feeling of anything not Murdoc’s touch. _It secretes a special hormone that functions akin to a sedative, to keep their prey pliant and unmoving, with an intensely euphoric side-effect. Possibly addictive properties, no- no convin-_ con-clu-sive _re...sea-_

The world is a blur of circular colours, bright and neon, swirling in front of his eyes. Murdoc’s tongue eases over the incisions in a white-hot kitten lick, like he’s lapping it up, Mac’s own tongue little more than a distant, heavy dead weight in his mouth. Something... something mewls, in the distance, far away, or someone...

“Angus! _Angus!_ Eyes open, _now_ , that’s an order!”

Iron points of pressure around his chin, forcing his head up to stare at two distant flecks of dark against a flesh-coloured wall. Mac blinks, even if it feels like lifting two stones with his lids, mouth twitching around empty air and what might be words. Is he - where - he was floating just a second ago, why isn’t he floating anymore- 

“Yes, my darling, just like that - come back, come back to me-”

Murdoc’s face floats in front of his, his face that he’s only now starting to feel again, lips pulling apart in a slow smile like he can never quite suppress at the sight of his favourite person. His favourite murderous person, with sharp, blood-flecked fangs, something pink smeared all across his skin, like Mac feels tears smeared across his face-

_Oh._

Murdoc sighs, eyes still a near pitch-black. Mac can see the tension more clearly like, the tension of barely-there self-control. Are those his hands or the vampire’s on his face? “Yes, _oh_ just about hits the nail on the head, sweetheart. You were moaning bloody murder, I think it overwhelmed you for a moment. How do you feel?”

_How - how do I feel?_ Mac frowns. He feels good, what else? Body starting to buzz pleasantly again, especially his neck, where something shaky prods against, just as damp, warm wetness coats his fingers - oh, that’s _his_ fingers on _his_ neck, and a slowly cooling puddle of something on his stomach next to Murdoc’s hard cock-

“That tickles.”

Dark eyes widen, and Mac knows what he needs to do next, what he wants. Sliding a heavy, weightless palm across the tense breadth of Murdoc’s neck and leaving a wet trail in his wake, he tangles his fingers in dark, sweaty hair, and slowly presses his face back down into his neck again, moaning softly as his partner’s groan tickles over the slick skin.


	24. MacTaylor Birthday (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 31: “Why don’t you go put on something pretty for me?” + mactaylor
> 
> contains: softness, russ being insecure about his age for like a smidgen of a moment, me not knowing how content warnings or tags work and instead using them to blab about anything and everything on Tumblr
> 
> I used HIC's irl bday for this since the show hasn't said anything about russ' yet and also this makes them both arieses (I don't know anything about zodiacs but my friend likes to shout about them bc she dated some and apparently they're all idiots)

Sometimes still, the sheer luxury of living with Russell Taylor is a little overwhelming to Mac, whose fond childhood memories mostly include survival training in the woods and cobbling together improvised knick-knacks out of trash. And it’s true, his boyfriend is a decadent bastard if he’s ever seen one; _no point in having money if you don’t use it every now and then_ , as he likes to say. 

But this is the side of Russ most people don’t get to see - the side where he’ll tag along to any gritty outdoors adventure with a spring in his step, where he’ll go on hour-long science benders just to argue the semantics of a question Mac randomly throws out into the room, the side where he grins up at Mac with a happy twinkle in his eyes and accepts his steaming cup of Earl Grey as eagerly as if it were the nectar of gods. Russ is over the top and whimsical, yes, but sometimes, he’s also delightfully simple, and Mac loves him for it. 

“Here you go-”, Mac smiles, watching how Russ blows out across the steaming liquid, carefully lowering himself to the mattress their bed as he takes care not to burn his fingers. He keeps one eye on the clock ticking away in the corner of their bedroom, watching as it closes own the last ten seconds to midnight, warmth blooming in his stomach when it officially marks the beginning of April 17th. “-birthday boy!”

Taking care not to upset either of their cups, he leans forward to press a light peck to Russ’ lips that quickly turns into a not-so-light French kiss, because of course it does. When he pulls back again, Russ is smiling up at him like Mac’s hugs all the stars in the sky, carefully scooting over to make room for him on the mattress. 

Mac sets his cup down onto the nightstand, preferring his tea a little on the cooler side as opposed to his boyfriend’s strange belief that it should be no less than absolutely scalding, and burrows in against his offered side with a quiet huff of satisfaction. “Thank you, love”, Russ murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of Mac’s head before he sips at his tea leisurely. 

Mac’s eyes flutter closed almost against his permission, but what can he say - Russ Taylor’s chest makes a great pillow, especially unobstructed by clothes as it is now. He lets his fingers ghost over the dark, wiry hair there, and breathes in the rich scent of the vanilla shampoo Russ loves so much. 

“We’re getting old”, he whispers after a while, the corners of his mouth twitching at the silent laughter that rumbles through his partner’s chest underneath his cheek. “Sure, talk to me again when you’re cracking forty, darling”, Russ teases, tracing the naked length of Mac’s spine with the warmth of his palm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Nuzzling the tip of his nose against the relaxed muscle of his left pectoral, Mac mouths wetly at a nipple, just to be a little shit. It gets him a gentle pinch, as well as a quiet groan of _bloody menace, no wonder my beard’s graying on me._

“Three years ago you threw the most decadent, champagne-drenched birthday bash Spearhead’s ever seen”, he points out, craning his neck to look up into warm brown eyes, watching how Russ drinks the tea that took Mac several years of dating to perfect. But the result is worth it; having a native Brit claim his blend as a personal favourite is a high honour, especially for an anti-talent in the kitchen like Mac. “And you fucked me seven times in the span of like three hours, in every position known to man. Before I fucked you in the middle of a hotel fountain and I’m pretty sure half our coworkers got an eyeful.”

Rolling his eyes playfully, Russ swallows a generous gulp before he tucks Mac more firmly into his side, almost pulling him fully on top of him. The soft cotton material of their boxers rubs against naked skin pleasantly, ever-present heat simmering lowly in Mac’s gut. “Three years ago I didn’t say things like ‘my back’s not what it used to be’ or look forward to Saturday night marathons of _Murder, She Wrote_ , dear.” 

He drains his cup, Adam’s apple bobbing hypnotically, and when Mac blinks his brain into coherence again the cup is already back on the nightstand, his partner smirking knowingly. “Could probably still screw you good and proper, though”, he rumbles, sliding warm, calloused fingers around the back of Mac’s neck to curl them into the roots of his hair at his skull and apply just the slightest bit of pressure, so that Mac just has to kiss him. 

“Hmm, no, seriously”, he says, voice rough and throaty as he wiggles on top of his boyfriend, pushing the sheets down to his knees. Mac leans forward, hands placed squarely against the headboard next to Russell’s head, brushing their lips together teasingly. “What’s your birthday wish, old man? We’ve got plans for tomorrow, but surely I can do something more than just Earl Grey for you tonight.”

He grinds down against the hot clutch of Russ’ groin against his own, cock still mostly soft, and watches how his pupils dilate, hands sliding down across Mac’s naked ribs to rub at his thighs. “Well, now that you say it... Why don’t you go put on something pretty for me?”

Self-assurance that almost dips into arrogance really is a lovely look on Russ, Mac thinks dizzily, undulating his hips more firmly as he feels his partner push back against the swell of his ass. An amused smirk plays at his lips, even as he leans forward to nip at the bearded jut of his chin. “Pretty as in suit or the lace you got me for Valentine’s day? Or maybe the white silk piece you like so much...”, he muses, heart squeezing tightly in his chest when it has groaning lowly, catching Mac’s lips in a tongue-heavy kiss that does nothing to help his coherent thought process. 

“You know that you don’t need to dress up for me to desire you, right?”, he rasps, wrapping strong arms around Mac’s middle in what feels like never-ending miles of skin-on-skin contact. Mac squeezes his thighs against firm hips, has to push down on the suspicious burn in his eyes. His cheeks are a lot cause. 

“I know, sweetheart”, he murmurs, sliding his tongue teasingly across Russ’ bottom lip. “But... I like doing it. For me and you. ‘sides, you’re gonna get plenty of skin in that anyways - dunno that it even qualifies as clothing.”

A hot puff of air ghosts out across Mac’s mouth, and Russ rubs his bristly cheek against Mac’s smooth one teasingly. “You have a point as always, dear. Just wanted you to know - fountain sex or not fountain sex, silk or no silk, I love you.” He leans back, groins still grinding together softly, good and hot and more of a background noise in its familiar ease to the open vulnerability Mac can see shining in dark brown eyes. “With all my old-boring-man-ness, Angus, I do love you. So much.” It’s quiet, barely there thing, touching something deep in Mac’s chest. 

“You’re neither old nor boring, Russ”, he murmurs, smiling into the kiss he presses to warm, spit-slick lips. “But I love you when you do boring old man stuff too, for the record. I love watching _Murder, She Wrote_ with you in this bed as much as I love riding your cock.”

Russ’ laugh is low and rumbly, but Mac can hear the passing note of genuine, deep emotion in it, and relief. “That’s poppycock, sweetheart, I’d be a little miffed if Angela Lansbury made you moan like I do.”

Throwing his head back on a laugh that shakes his whole body, Mac wraps his own arms firmly around Russ’ shoulders, beard tickling at his neck that his boyfriend presses against. “Alright, fair, there might be a slight preference one way or the other.”

He slides out of Russ’ lap a little reluctantly, the comparatively cool bedroom air not nearly as satisfying as his partner’s skin on his own. Though the sight is arguably worth it; his favourite person in the world, sat up against their headboard, hot and hard in his boxers just for Mac, palming himself in anticipation. “Stay right there, birthday boy”, he grins, and pads off into their walk-in closet with the feeling of brown eyes burning Russ’ mark into his skin. 


	25. MacVince Improvise (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the prompt for this one was just Mac + Vince from ep 5.01, so I just rewrote a bit of the episode haha
> 
> honestly ngl I did think the two of them would make an interesting pair, and I'm super stoked other people apparently do too. Vince gives me bad boy extraordinaire vibes (and fuckboy too tbh), and I think if they hadn't kidnapped him, they might even have convinced him to play along anyways, which would be the continuation of this. he still calls russ a boomer tho cause that was funny

Mac can’t remember the last time he went to a sauna - on a non-work related occasion, that is. And all of those ended in a fistfight, so not much relaxing to go around. Though his boss is certainly looking very relaxed at the moment, laid out next to their intended mark.

Vincent Brule, as Riley’s facial rec program modified for their phones confirms him to be, is exactly the type of guy who’d catch Mac’s eye at a bar. Firm, strongly built chest, dark hair (since the Nikki incident he’s been a little hesitant with blond), a confident ease to his movements that almost crosses the line into arrogance, and an aura of something that, if it isn’t danger, at least speaks of some degree of questionable legality. No matter how much Mac would and _has_ denied this in front of Bozer, nothing gets to him like that special edge, that surge of adrenaline. Too bad he’s not here to make nice. 

Vincent’s Adam’s apple bobs hypnotically, and for a moment Mac almost loses himself in the sight before forcing his mind back out of the gutter and onto the track. It’s certainly hot in here, and with a water-soluble narcotic that might just play into their hands...

“Well, hello there”, a low voice cuts through his thoughts, halting Mac’s fingers in their tracks where he was about to drop the white pill into a glass of water. He looks up to find Vincent - the mark - staring straight at him, phone lying forgotten next to him on the bench. He’s looking at Mac exactly like someone who’s caught his eye in the aforementioned bar might, all dark, half lidded eyes and lascivious smirk. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, darling, which is a right shame.”

Mac blinks rapidly, jaw going slack in surprise as he struggles to keep up with the change in program. Vincent’s eyes trace the movement of his mouth shamelessly, making something warm twist in Mac’s lower stomach. Having the mark pay special attention to you is never desirable on missions like these, where you rely heavily on distractions - hence Russ - and sleight of hand, which, to be fair, Mac could probably still pull off, except...

Except it’s been a really long quarantine, and Mac knows the burning in Vincent’s dark brown eyes intimately from how his own gut is doing the exact same, and isn’t improvising sort of his thing? 

Letting the tiny white pill drop to the floor in the hope that the steam and Vincent’s continued focus on his mouth - and chest, apparently, he really isn’t shy about looking - will obscure his movements, Mac pulls out his best lopsided smirk and walks up to Vincent, taking a big gulp of his water. 

“Well, now we have”, he replies, voice just a little too throaty to be mistaken for casual. Next to Vincent, his boss makes a little twitching motion, but Mac really couldn’t care less, not with how the man is practically undressing him with his eyes. That towel really isn’t going to be much use anymore in a moment. “What are you going to do about it?”

Vincent blinks up at him in something that looks almost like surprise, before it changes to a look of heated appreciation. Rising slowly to his full height, only a few scant inches on Mac that feel like miles in that moment, he huffs out an amused little laugh and snatches the still half-full glass of water from Mac’s grip, turning it so that his lips press against the visible imprint of Mac’s own. He lowers it again with a smirk, stepping so close that Mac can feel his breath through the heat of the sauna. “Depends, sweetheart, on what you’ll _let_ me do.”

* * *

_“Oh - oh my - fuck, harder - fuck me harder -”_

Hands fisting in the messy expanse of hotel sheets, Mac presses his sweat-covered forehead into the mattress on a loud cry, back arching to the point of pain into the mind-shattering thrusts of Vince’s cock into his body. The man really is all bark _and_ bite - literally, as his neck can attest. 

“Shit, baby”, he pants, plastering himself to Mac’s sweat-slick back so tightly he can make out each individual ridge of well-defined abdominal muscle. “Aren’t you the sweetest little thing, _fuck-_ ”

Mac pants a breathless laugh into the mattress, anything he might say in reply lost to the delicious grind of Vince’s cock into his prostate. His comm crackles to life in his ear, and Matty’s voice rings out. 

_“Taylor, how’s the hostage coming along? And does anyone want to explain to me why Mac’s comm isn’t transmitting?”_

Russ Taylor decidedly does not sound like a happy camper when he replies in a gruff voice, and Mac can hear the suppressed anger with a clarity reminiscent of the Codex fiasco. _“The hostage isn’t so much of a hostage right now, Matilda, because MacGyver decided to fuck said hostage instead.”_

A moment of confused silence follows - on the comms at least, because out loud, Mac definitely doesn’t manage to keep the near-scream that tears out of his throat suppressed. Vince’s thrusts slow down steadily, until he feels the edge of his hand brush against his ass as the man wraps a hand around the base of his cock, keeping the condom in place while he pulls out. 

“C’mon, baby”, he grins, dropping onto his back next to Mac, looking at him expectantly. “Want you to ride me, show me what you’ve got.”

Rolling his eyes with an amused little snort, Mac clambers into his lap and thrusts their hard cocks together before taking hold of Vincent’s erection and lining up with his loosened entrance. His head dips back on a guttural moan as he sinks downwards, revelling in the feeling of his partner’s hands digging into the meat of his thighs. God, but he’s _missed_ this. 

_“Well”_ , Matty finally says, _“Unconventional, but let’s hope it gets the job done.”_

“So”, he rasps, rolling his hips down into Vincent’s lap leisurely, hands planted firmly against his abdomen. “I’ve heard some interesting things about you, Vincent, and some - _ah_ \- promising reviews about a h-hotel.”

Planting his feet squarely on the mattress, Vince pounds up into Mac from below, almost hard enough to unseat him, and definitely hard enough to scramble most of his coherent thought processes. “You lookin’ for an in to the Grand, sweetheart? I’ll do you one better - how about a personal one-on-one tour with the man himself?”, he groans, and Mac laughs breathlessly. “Oh, it’s not for me.”

The movement of his hips stills, keeping Vince’s cock deep inside pushed right against Mac’s prostate. Mac’s heart pounds in heavy anticipation as he lets brown eyes assess him critically, having to keep himself from clenching down; he knows Vince’s type, he thinks, and if he’s pegged him correctly-

“Shit, baby, you’ve been around the block quite a bit, haven’t you?”, he finally grounds out, hips twitching back into motion. Mac lets his mouth pull into a satisfied smile, and picks up his earlier movements again. “Lucky for you, I like a bit of danger with my pleasure.”

One muscled arm thrown out to the side, Vince gropes for his phone across the mattress, never once halting the hot slide of his cock inside Mac’s ass as he scrolls through his contacts. “Alright then, which names am I giving, 007?”


	26. MacTaylor Suitors (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 39: “I’m so sick of your voice. Why don’t you come over here and put your mouth to better use?” + mactaylor
> 
> contains: loosely inspired by Bridgerton, no offence to any mentioned characters I just needed Russ to be jealous, I have no idea abt British nobility or the ins and outs of period society this is mostly googled, but the show is seriously amazing!!

“...cheat, indebted, hypochondriac. I am inclined to believe that you would have better fortune searching for suitors yourself after all, Lord MacGyver - your chaperone certainly excels at unearthing all the Kingdom’s great scoundrels.”

Rolling his eyes absentmindedly, Angus MacGyver thumbs at the page of his rather thick book about natural sciences. “How curious, your Highness - I’ve yet to hear a single positive remark about any of my potential matches, or any that can even remotely be considered helpful.”

His Highness the Duke of Hastings, Lord Russell Taylor, snorts condescendingly under his breath from where he’s laid out in his chaise-lounge placed strategically along the window overlooking the large estate gardens, catching the maximum amount of afternoon sun. His white shirt is quite scandalously unbuttoned to show off an indecent amount of well-built chest, dusted with a smattering of dark hair. Angus has to forcibly keep his eyes on his chapter of - something to do with plants, he thinks, which is not a problem he’s ever found himself facing. “As I’ve told you numerous times, dear Angus, you will hear nothing but the highest of praise from me the moment you show me anyone useful. Which I’ve yet to see.”

Angus can’t quite suppress the incredulous shake of his head, turning his attention back to the matter at hand. Meanwhile, the Duke casts yet another sheet of parchment lined with names to the floor, before breaking out into bellowing laughter. “Lady Carpenter?! Really?”

Slowly lowering his book in a concession of what feels oddly like defeat, Angus frowns at his companion. “I thought she was quite enchanting, personally. Why, what’s wrong with her?”

Russell throws the offending page to the floor to join countless others, without bothering to look at the remaining names. “Oh dear, you really haven’t the foggiest”, he murmurs, looking at Angus with something resembling amused pity. “It’d probably be faster to tell you what’s _not_ wrong with her, to be honest.”

Huffing underneath his breath, Angus sets the book aside, catching Russell’s scrunched up eyebrows and questioning look when he raises his head. “Excuse me? I didn’t quite catch that, I’m afraid.”

“Just a pinch of Scottish wisdoms, my Lord”, he smiles sweetly, chest doing something strange at the inelegant little snort the Duke gives. Sitting up with a low groan, he sets his elbows onto black-clad knees, parchment held entirely too low between calloused, strong hands to obscure any part of his formidable chest exposed by the gaping in his shirt. Angus squirms in his seat, wondering - wondering whether there is any additional volumes of interest to be found in the Duke’s library. “I’m sure it was, I’m sure it was. Let us finish today’s work, then.”

He proceeds to rip every remaining name to shreds, in that precise, cool way only Russell Taylor could. “Lord Colton - gambler, and an insufficient one at that. Lady Thornton - as warm as a freezing winter’s morning.” Forehead scrunching into a small frown, Angus interjects, “Jack quite liked her. He thinks very highly of the Lady.”

Russell doesn’t even grace him with a stray glance of intense brown. “And I’m sure he’s very adept at ensuring your personal safety in- and outside these ridiculous balls, but this list of names tells me all I need to know about the Sir’s romantic aptness. Lady Nguyen - lovely match made in hell, you’d rip each other to shreds within a week at most. Lord Murdoc - the only living creature I’d let within a bloody mile of _that_ is a cockroach.”

Angus almost chokes on his laughter, a voice that sounds very much like his dear Aunt Matty - Lady Webber - mentally chastising him for such unbecoming behaviour. Then again, he’s sitting alone in a pretend suitor’s drawing room unsupervised with a man who’s made no moves to propose; there’s very little about this that could be considered becoming. 

“Oh, would you look at that!”, he exclaims suddenly, sitting up with a devilish smile and holding the parchment out for Angus to read. “The Marquess of Winchester?” With bated breath, Angus leans forward, eyes not on the parchment as Russell probably intends but holding his brown gaze instead, burning intensely with something he can’t name. Surely a Marquess- “Why, that’s the biggest rake I’ve ever seen!”

Something like appalled delight tickles at the back of his throat; it isn’t a laugh. It isn’t. “And how would you know, pray tell?”, he demands instead, leaning back against the back of his armchair and crossing his right leg over his left firmly. Russ gives him a dirty grin, winking as he lets the last piece of parchment drop to the floor as well. “Takes one to know one, darling. If your aim in marriage is to contract syphilis or some such other pleasant condition, by all means.”

Angus thinks of some rather un-lordlike things to say to that. Another day, and the crowd of seriously considerable suitors grows ever thinner; but where a week ago the sight of parchment being cast aside inspired a deep-seated discomfort in his stomach, now, he can’t seem to motivate any sense of loss. “If I did not know better, I should almost think you were aiming to keep me free of wedlock, my Lord.”

Merely a heartbeat of something strange flashing across the Duke’s face passes, a heartbeat that then turns into another, before the moment has dragged for entirely too long and turned the air between them heavy with _something_. “Well”, Russell finally says, in a low, throaty voice, “Thankfully you _do_ know better, dear.”

Angus feels his cheeks burn, suddenly unable to hold the Duke’s gaze and dropping his eyes to the floor instead. It’s a joking remark, one he’s made a dozen times before, and yet... and yet, the other man has never quite reacted this strangely. 

“In, ah, any case, as I was saying before - all of this seems to me like an incredible waste of time. Eternal bachelorhood is really quite agreeable, Angus, without all the complications of _romance-_ ”, he pronounces it like something distasteful, and Angus’ chest squeezes tightly with no upset, because that would simply be preposterous. He certainly does not care whether the Duke has any designs on marriage or not, and whether he insists on remaining the same old cynic forever. “-the Lord only knows why you insist on such senseless matters in the first place-”

Angus does not know why he says it, only that he cannot stand to listen to Russell go on about the same damned thing he’s made his opinions clear on since day one even an instant longer. “I’m quite sick of your voice. Why don’t you come over here and put your mouth to better use?”

Thighs pressed firmly together, he stares at the man sitting across the room, straightening up with an unreadable look on his face and a small smirk playing at his lips. There’s an almost challenging element to it; and if the past few weeks have proven anything, it’s that Angus for the life of him cannot resist a challenge from this man. “What? You say all these people are utterly unfit suitors, and yet I seem to remember a declaration that if you were truly courting me, you wouldn’t need any flowers, only five minutes alone in a drawing room together. I have plenty of flowers, and only rejected proposals to show for it; perhaps I should consider... alternative approaches.”

“The five minutes alone in the library did not suffice, my Lord?”, Russell whispers, raising his eyebrows even as he rises from his seat already. His posture is open and relaxed, and Angus cannot help the way his eyes trace over his loose shirt and tight waistcoat, envisioning the muscle he knows far too intimately underneath.

He swallows thickly, unfolding his legs as the Duke steps in-between, the bulge in his dark pants at perfect eye-level. “Evidently not”, he murmurs, neck straining to look up into that heated gaze, pupils dilated to the point where it almost makes Russell’s eyes appear black instead of brown. 

“Very well, then, let me show you what all these people are lacking”, the Duke finally assents, dropping to his knees in front of Angus and sliding powerful arms underneath his thighs to grasp at his hips and tug him forward. Gently, Russell begins mouthing at the clothed outline of Angus’ cock, whose thighs are already beginning to shake spread around broad shoulders, gasping breathlessly at the sensation. 

Once again, the parchment lies forgotten on the floor.


	27. MacDalton Tribute (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 46: “Wanna see what I’m wearing underneath all this?” + macdalton
> 
> contains: Hunger Games AU, canon-typical mentions of violence, mentions of future character death, age difference BUT im aging the reaping age cutoff up to 25 for story purposes so no funny business
> 
> ....another day another au I wanna write. idk why this is so ANGSTY but here u go xoxo

The night before Mac’s life changes forever, he goes to bed early. After thirty minutes of tossing and turning and a pounding heartbeat that refuses to calm down, he’s back out in the darkened corridors. 

Bare feet padding silently over the cold marble floor, he doesn’t even spare a sideways glimpse out the floor-to-ceiling length windows, unable to take the sight of the opulent Capitol today. The dimmed sound of fireworks going off in every corner is bad enough, a perverse reminder of the fact that he’s about to die a horrible, violent death that will probably be taken as a cause for celebration. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t pass Riley’s door on the way to his destination, knowing that if he caught even a hint of light or muffled crying from her room it’d be enough to stop him in his tracks, and just tonight, just this once, Mac wants to be selfish. 

Just one more time, before it all ends. 

Not even a full hour has passed since Mac left dinner when another bedroom door slides open noiselessly, so unlike the rickety build of every house in District 12. Mac’s hands fist nervously in the soft, silken sheets, and he blinks nervously against the sliver of light at the dark figure looming in the doorway in obvious hesitation. 

A gruff, raspy voice that’s become almost familiarly soothing over the past few weeks breaks the silence. “What’re you doing here, hoss?”

Swallowing thickly, Mac tries to put all his nonexistent confidence behind his smile, praying that it doesn’t look half as wobbly as it feels. Goosebumps break out all over his naked skin underneath the sheets, and he wonders distantly whether his nervous sweat might stain the sheets. Not very conductive to seduction, that. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Slowly, Jack Dalton lets the door fall back shut behind him, adjusting the lights in the room to something thankfully dim simultaneously. At home, Mac’s only used to candles or the improvised electric lighting system he’s rigged up, which doesn’t allow for anything but barely glowing and aggressive glare, let alone the myriad of coloured mood-lights the Capitol has to offer. 

“To me, it looks like a young, naive, desperate man who’s letting his fears make decisions for him he’ll regret.” Jack sounds painfully, embarrassingly dry, a matter-of-fact statement just like when he’d run through all the previous victor’s winning strategies on the train with them. Brain them with a rock from behind. Stick it out in a tree. Poison water supply. Make a fool of yourself trying to seduce someone who’s obviously out of your league. 

Cheeks burning with mortification, Mac fights the urge to roll onto his back and stand up with the sheet wrapped tightly around his naked form, put his clothes back on and leave Jack’s room with his head hung in shame. Jack hasn’t made any move to step closer into the room, leaning against the dark wooden door, but Mac can see the way his eyes keep dropping to the outline of his body covered by the blanket, and he remembers heated gazes across the table over breakfast and dinner. Chance meetings in the hallways. Jack’s strange look when Riley’d made up that ridiculous story about them in her interview-

“Then you’re wrong”, he says quietly, slowly uncoiling the fingers of his right hand from the edge of the sheet to drape it over his body. Even across the empty space between them, he catches the slight hitch in Jack’s breath, the harsh clench of his broad, stubbled jaw. “I won’t regret this.”

Eyes fluttering closed on a shaky sigh, Jack dips his head for a long heartbeat fraught with palpable tension before he pushes himself off the door. He stalks towards Mac almost silently, and even while he’s not actively trying to appear threatening, for a man of Jack’s stature it seems to come naturally. Or maybe that’s just because Mac dimly remembers watching a twenty-three year-old Jack with what seemed to be a never-ending stream of blood splattered across his half-crazed face after tearing another tribute’s throat out - some things, especially when you see them at seven years old, never quite leave you. 

The mattress dips under additional weight, and even if he takes great care not to let them touch anywhere, Mac can still feel Jack’s body heat through the thin layers of clothing and bedding. His brown eyes are dark and thoughtful, heavy with a kind of pain Mac will know intimately in only a few hours. “You’re scared, Mac”, he says softly, and Mac imagines how warm his breath would be if only he leaned a scant few inches closer. “Everyone is before they go into the arena. It’ll pass.”

Mac forcibly swallows down the bitter exclamation that wants to slip out, instead exhaling a shaky breath. “I am”, he admits readily, voice rough with emotion. Something behind Jack’s eyes shutters, and he hurries to continue. “But I’m not here because of that, Jack. I want you.”

The words feel right passing his lips, right but clumsy. Mac’s never been particularly good or even interested in propositioning and seducing anyone, and no one has ever quite lit the same simmering heat deep in his belly like Jack Dalton. He shifts minutely onto his back, feels the sheet slipping down a fraction of an inch against his chest to expose a pebbled nipple to the cool bedroom air and Jack’s wandering eyes. 

“You don’t really want this”, Jack rumbles, only after letting the pause stretch unnaturally long. The words sound mechanic, dragged from his mouth the same way he drags his eyes back up from Mac’s chest. “Not with an old spook like me.”

Mac snorts humourlessly. “Barely even sixteen years, don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m a fully consenting adult, Jack.”

Jack’s voice is little more than a thick rasp at this point, lips barely moving even as his upper body seems to tilt closer without him even noticing. “Your judgement’s clouded.”

Shrugging his shoulders against the soft, fluffy pillow propped underneath his back, Mac finds his eyes dropping to Jack’s mouth as if by magnetic force. “Maybe. Or maybe the prospect of imminent death has lowered my inhibitions to the point where I don’t particularly care for appearances anymore and can simply be honest about what I want.”

This time, Mac can feel the shuddering breath ghost over his cheeks. “Why me?”, Jack whispers into the heated space between them, hovering over Mac’s body and trembling as if held by thin, silk-spun threads. 

Mac raises both hands up between their bodies, fits them against the scratchy outline of Jack’s jaw, smoothing his thumbs across weather-worn cheekbones, feels the tension thrumming through his entire body. Or maybe that’s just the tremor in his own hands. “Why not you?”, he replies, eyes staring straight into a bottomless, exhilarating pit of beautiful dark brown, taking in the bright little flecks of amber here and there. “You’re beautiful. Kind. Selfless. Funny.”

Jack stares at him silently for a long moment, before he says something that completely takes Mac off guard. “Before they called Riley’s name at the reaping, all I could think of was you. What a waste it would be. How brave you were, volunteering for that Bozer boy.” His eyes drop Mac’s gaze for a fragile moment, flicking back up when they meet only naked skin. “I did the same for my brother, all those years ago.”

Something faint tingles at the base of Mac’s spine, travelling slowly all the way up the length of it, something warm and steady that beats along with his pulse, but feels starkly different from the arousal still simmering in his gut. “I - I... didn’t know that”, he whispers, feeling as if they were sharing some groundbreaking secret between them. Jack’s muscles shift underneath his palms, lips quirking into a tiny smile. Mac finds that he likes the look and feel of it. “S’true.”

Slowly, steadily, he leans forward, giving Mac ample time to voice dissent or firm his grip to keep Jack back, but all he does is crane his neck to close the last inch between them, eyes fluttering closed at the soft touch of Jack’s lips on his. It starts out slow and sweet, all gentle heat cresting at a snail-like pace, until something hot and wet touches against Mac’s bottom lip and his mouth falls open on a quiet gasp that Jack swallows right down. Mac’s hands have long slid over a shirt-clad back and bare neck, feeling the rough material of his shirt and bristles of buzzed hair. 

He couldn’t for the life of him estimate accurately how long the kiss lasts, somewhere between a fraction of a second and eternity, panting heavily against Jack’s spit-slick mouth still so very close even when they’ve broken the connection. Mac stares up into dilated pupils, lips moving in part just to feel them brush across Jack’s own. “Wanna see what I’m wearing underneath all this?”

It brings a light twinkle of amusement to Jack’s eyes, less heavy than both the arousal and grief that lays waiting just around the corner. Mac feels his chuckle more than he hears it, feels himself stirring at the hoarseness of his voice. “I feel like that’s a trick question, an’ the answer is nothin’ at all.”

Mac is surprised at how easily the grin comes to him, turning into a low gasp when calloused hands suddenly drag the sheet down to his navel to fit against bare sides. “That’s a golden star for you, Mr. Dalton”, he murmurs, leaning back up to press another kiss to Jack’s irresistible mouth with the added bonus of nimble fingers sliding between the mattress and his bare ass to squeeze at his left cheek. 

The sheet comes off between desperate, open-mouthed kisses, along with Jack’s clothes, and Mac’s insecurity, leaving only hot skin against hot skin, Mac’s legs clamped around a muscled waist. He’s halfway to turned-on incoherence when a horrifying thought occurs to him and he gasps out a faint _wait-!_ , stopping Jack in his tracks almost immediately. 

Mac flounders a little for several seconds, hands tensing to see Jack from sliding off him like he intends to do. “I - you know that this, uh, this isn’t a precondition for... for our deal?”, he questions awkwardly, almost imagining that he can feel Jack’s breath stutter to a halt against him for a moment. “I’m... I don’t expect this of you as an exchange or anything, you can - you can say no.”

In a strange juxtaposition, something seems to simultaneously soften behind Jack’s brown eyes, relief and devastation all at once. “I know”, he murmurs, cock hot and still next to Mac’s own, the only other thing in the world that really exists right then. “I never thought it was.”

Mac can find only sincerity in his eyes, finally nodding silently and closing his eyes when he slides his tongue against Jack’s again, hips grinding up into the delicious press of his groin. Anything to put the overwhelming turmoil of emotion on his face out of his mind. 

_I’m going to bring Riley back to you,_ I promise, he’d said to this very man only days ago, _whatever it takes, I’ll protect her in the arena and get her home safely._

Neither of them voices it for the rest of the night, but it glares at them all the same, the knowledge that it’ll take Mac’s own life. 


	28. MacTaylor Interrupted (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 42: “I guess I’ll just get off all by myself.” + mactaylor
> 
> contains: spearhead au, ftm Mac, sex toys, some fingering
> 
> I LOVE EILEEN BRENNAN that's it that's the psa

Absentmindedly, Mac realises that he’s never actually asked whether Russ’ personal office is sound-proofed or not. Judging by the fact that they do still have any employees at all despite all the noisy sex they’ve had in here over the years, he supposes that it must. If it didn’t, that would certainly make a lot of things very awkward for passersby outside right now. 

“You know - that people - will see those, right?”, Mac gasps wetly, tilting his throat further into Russ’ mouth despite his words, unable to tamp back on a shuddering moan as he feels teeth worrying at his skin. His entire neck feels hot and bruised, and if he looked in a mirror he’s certain he’d find its entire expanse red and irritated by the scratch of Russ’ beard. 

Leaning back to give Mac some room to breathe and admire his work, Russ releases his skin with a wet smack, eyes burning almost as devastatingly hot as the rest of him does against Mac’s body. “Hmm, you can wear one of my turtlenecks”, he rasps lowly, wedging a suit-clad thigh between both of Mac’s and grinding forward with his entire hip. Any words he’d meant to say are lost in another desperate kiss, a messy clash of teeth and tongues and moans. 

“Then they’ll definitely know what we’ve been doing on company time”, Mac murmurs when they pull apart again, sliding restless hand up the back of Russell’s silk waistcoat. God, he’d never known how much he adored the feeling of expensive clothes underneath his hands - but maybe that’s just a side-effect of dating Russ. He certainly wears them well enough to turn it into anyone’s kink. 

Russ smirks at him unabashedly, nimble fingers pulling Mac’s belt free of its buckles and throwing it to the carpeted floor beside them. “You know, darling, I think they already do. Only a saint could resist something as beautiful and enticing as you for longer than five minutes, especially when you let one touch and take so readily.” On the last word, he slides a warm, calloused palm into the confines of Mac’s jeans, grinding it right up against his cock while he mouths at Mac’s jawline. 

For several long, bliss-filled seconds, all Mac can do is stand there, let the office door take his weight, and feel the physical sensations of tiny starbursts explode everywhere Russ touches him. He pants heavily into the air, blinks against the blur of the ceiling and pushes his hips up into the delicious friction with abject need, hands fisting in the tight fit of Russ’ waistcoat. God, even through multiple layers he can feel the muscle shift underneath his hands, thick, corded muscle, a reminder of how strong his partner is, how easily he could just lift Mac against the wall right then and there-

A low chuckle registers somewhere at the edge of his consciousness, though Mac is distracted by the hot breath it puffs out over his ear. “Enjoying yourself, love?” 

Pressing his own thigh against the steel line of Russ’ erection, he lets his eyes flutter shut, moaning softly at the dry friction of his partner’s hand against his cock that feels all the more devastating for it. “Mhh, very much - though I’d enjoy it a lot more if we got these clothes off”, Mac pants, craning his neck to the side to let Russ kiss a love letter of wet bruises into it. His hands trace the line of his partner’s spine until they slide into the back pockets of his suit pants, squeezing firmly at the perfectly rounded globes of Russ’ ass. 

It has his hips driving sharply against Mac’s with a surprised gasp, fingers twitching where they’re curled inside Mac. “ _Shit,_ darling-”

And then the shrill ring of Russ’ cellphone shatters the moment between them, Mac’s hands relaxing into his back pockets as he slumps against the door with a low groan of disappointment. Russ curses quietly, grasping for the phone in his front pocket with his left hand, his right still buried inside Mac. 

“Taylor, what?”, he barks irritatedly, frowning heavily at the wall besides Mac’s head who chuckles and rolls his eyes. Russ in the morning can be a terrible grump, but has nothing on Russ being interrupted during sex. At least he’s not actively trying t-

Only his well-honed instincts and a lightning fast-move to clamp his mouth shut keep Mac from moaning out loud when Russ’ fingers shift inside him, rubbing slow circles into that one spot that makes him see rainbow-coloured starbursts. His head thunks back against the door, a faintly metallic taste blooming on his tongue. 

“But that’s - okay - what? Now? Bugger, just as - alright, I’m coming. See you there.” With an annoyed little sigh, Russ ends the call and pockets his phone, immediately drawing Mac into another slow kiss. 

“That sounded - _ohh_ \- important”, Mac groans, tilting his hips into the the pressure of Russ’ fingers still gently fucking into him. His partner snorts, dropping his head against Mac’s shoulder. “Yeah. Negotiations in Russia are going a little rough, Eileen wants me on a call to butter them up.”

Mac resists the urge to sigh, knowing that it won’t accomplish anything besides making Russ feel guilty for something he can’t help. He loves working at Spearhead, wouldn’t exchange it for anything in the world, but between his partner owning the operation and Mac’s specialty for lost causes, it can feel like the entire world is constantly demanding their attention with no room for anything else. 

He lets himself bask in the overwhelming sensation of Russ all around him for another three heartbeats before drawing his hands out of his back pockets to tap at his partner’s shoulders. “Alright, c’mon, don’t wanna make you late to being important.”

Russ makes a petulant little noise but acquiesces, finger pads lingering on the swell of Mac’s cock to rub another slow circle into it before he finally removes his hands from his jeans, leaving the blond fighting to ignore the strange sensation of emptiness. 

“Sorry, love, I wish I didn’t have to”, he murmurs apologetically, pressing a loving peck to Mac’s lips. Hugging the older man close to his body to make the most of their scant time together before he lets go again. “Eh, don’t worry - not like you planned it that way”, Mac replies, swiftly turning them around so Russ is propped against the door instead and grinning at his partner impishly. “I guess I’ll just get off all by myself.”

Russ groans brokenly, hips twitching against Mac’s thigh in desperation. He’s still so hard, and Mac needs to let go before he can’t anymore-

Suddenly, Russ slips out from between Mac and the door, a mischievous spark in his eyes as he jogs over to his desk and pulls out the top drawer where he keeps the important stuff, like his encrypted tablet and gun and the lube. “Where- _aha!_ ”

Triumphantly holding a sleek black toy in his hand, he stalks towards Mac with all the coiled danger and laziness of an apex predator. Mac has to actively think to draw his next breath, eyes fixed on what’s definitely a vibrator as Russ cups his jaw in a loose caress. “Wha-”

“Remote-controlled vibrator, darling”, his partner murmurs, with that decadent, self-assured smirk of his that always has Mac shivering with a special kind of exasperated arousal. “It’s synced up to an app on my phone, so I can control speed and intensity even from the other end of the world, and certainly from a few floors away. I was just waiting for the opportunity to test it out, if you’re willing.”

And Mac - Mac blinks, before he does the one thing this situation really calls for in snatching the vibrator from Russell’s waiting hand and drawing him into another open-mouthed, sloppy kiss while they push his jeans off together.


	29. MacDalton Five Stars (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. 28: “If you keep making those sounds I’m not going to be able to stop myself.” + macdalton
> 
> contains: some not very cash money groping, Jack and Mac just barely skirting a public indecency charge, alcohol mention (no one is drunk or even tipsy tho so no dub con, even if Mac acts like he is for a teeny tiny moment) (I think that’s mostly the high of seeing someone chew out his dad), Matty and James are a thing in this but it’s not explicitly clarified
> 
> honestly I think if mama dalton had ever set eyes on James MacGyver he would not have left that meeting alive. the woman who raised jack dalton would've torn him to pieces and you can't convince me otherwise. I love matty but she lets him get away with far too much even if I adore their friendship/relationship

“Holy _shit,_ your momma’s reaming out my father’s ass!”, Mac whisper-shouts into Jack’s ear with far too much glee, somewhere between lying and leaning into his lap with his hair mussed out of its careful gelled style and his shirt halfway undone. It’s all Jack can do to keep one strong arm wrapped around his shoulders to make sure he doesn’t topple them both off their chairs, while simultaneously staring up at the restaurant ceiling and _praying_. 

Mac’s right hand squeezes around his upper thigh, wrinkling the material of his suit pants as he squeals in excitement. His lips drag over Jack’s ear wetly, hot puffs of air ghosting across the skin as he needles him to _look, Jack, look at her go!_

Jack does, and finds himself momentarily distracted by the admittedly glorious sight of James MacGyver and Mama Dalton at the bar having a one-on-one chat that mostly consists of Mac’s father doing his best to sink into his barstool and vanish from sight while his momma’s eyebrows inch closer and closer to her hairline. Having found himself on the receiving end of one of her lectures more than once over the course of his child- and adulthood, Jack almost feels a pang of sympathy for the man. Almost, because it _was_ pretty funny watching James extend a hand only for his momma to immediately ask what the hell he’s been up to all those years, apart from not raising his child. 

“Your mom’s incredible”, Mac sniggers, head pivoting around to grin up at Jack brightly, whose entire breath leaves him in one big whoosh the moment he sets eyes on his partner. His baby blues are bright and electric, pupils dilated in his excitement, with a pretty flush to his cheeks; and between the wine and the way he’s been biting his lips all night, Mac’s mouth looks like nothing short of pure sin, especially when it’s hanging just slightly ajar as he stares up at Jack. Beautiful. 

“You - oh.” Mac smiles bashfully, head dipping down momentarily before he’s inching closer to Jack’s face again, almost indecently so. “That’s - thank you. You’re beautiful too, big guy.”

Jack’s arm slides down along Mac’s back to curl around his waist almost mindlessly, an easy movement that feels as natural as breathing, just as his partner shifting further into Jack’s lap. “You know, when we said dinner with the parents I didn’t - _oooh, Jackie!_ ”

Mac’s hand grinds against the swell of his cock in what _looks_ to be an accident, but Jack’s learned long ago that any impression of innocence usually points to funny business. “Mhh, now what you tryin’ to do with that, hoss?”, he grumbles, and yeah okay his voice is a little too gravelly to pass as normal, even without the erection. He does his best to give Mac the disapproving eyebrow, but can’t help the way his hips grind into it. 

Mac snorts, pressing a sloppy kiss against the stubble on Jack’s chin that’s really just a lick. “Depends - is it for me?”, he whispers, squeezing at his cock and setting off white starbursts behind Jack’s eyelids that explode in all colours of the rainbow and electric charge buzzing out over his skin. He inhales a lurching breath, only barely resisting the urge to drag Mac’s dress shirt out of his pants, and thinks back to a time where they’d actively had to work their way up to _hugging_ in public. 

“Dear lord, I knew I shouldn’t’a let ya dip into the rosé like tha’-”, Jack groans helplessly, half his brain-power invested in keeping an eye on their parents and the other half in not coming in his underwear right then and there. Laughter blubbers out of Mac’s mouth against his throat from where he’s snuggled against Jack’s chest comfortably to hide the movements of his hand. “Shoulda just ordered tequila or sumn.”

Jack can physically feel Mac’s eyeroll in the depths of his soul, and thinks distantly that he’s never met anyone who can do it quite like Mac does, doing his best to publicly give someone a hand job while also lecturing them in full seriousness. “That makes no sense, big guy, I had a single glass and the alcohol content in tequila is much higher-”

“Yeah, but tequila-you is only a danger to public safety and fully functional electronics, not my sanity and dignity”, Jack grumbles, biting down on a desperate moan when Mac’s nimble fingertips slip down further between his thighs to massage at his balls. It’s a barely-there sensation, dampened by the thick material of his suit-pants, but Jack’d be a damned liar if he said it wasn’t the hottest thing he’s felt all week. 

“Still makes no sense, there’s absolutely zero scientific evidence to back up any such thing as drink-specific personalities”, Mac declares, hips tilting sideways so he can sling his left leg just barely over Jack’s knees, somehow managing not to upset the entire table in the process. Jack is very impressed by - well, the hand job mostly, if he’s honest.

“There’s gonna be - oh, fuck - gunna be sum’ evidence of sumthn’ else real soon, hoss, ‘f ya keep goin’ like tha’-”, Jack moans, trying desperately to keep a somewhat normal outward expression. To anyone passing by, they’d simply look closely cuddled together, which is inappropriate enough on its own but at least Mac hasn’t started undoing any flies yet-

“Oooh, _oh Jack_ ”, he sighs, nose dragging against the pronounced stubble on his jawline, groin twitching against Jack’s upper thigh enough for him to feel the hardness there, but not enough to be really noticeable. He can’t help the way his left hand slides down the small of Mac’s back, fingertips digging into a cheek-

Yeah, okay, that’s bull. He totally can, and he’s absolutely doing it on purpose. 

Mac presses trembling lips to Jack’s neck, whining deep in the back of his throat and that’s it, that’s his breaking point. Jack’s hand tightens on Mac’s ass, voice little more than a guttural rasp when he speaks. “If you keep making those sounds I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”

Mac snorts out low, rumbling laughter against his neck, leaning back without dislodging any of the delicious friction or stopping the ministrations of his hand. “What, these sounds?”, he whispers, pupils blown wide and heavy with arousal, and then he fucking goes ahead and breathes out a tiny, unmistakeable moan into Jack’s ear. 

“Shit, fuckin’ - Mac, baby, I’m two seconds away from-” - “-taking me into the bathroom and fucking it out before anyone notices?”, Mac hurries to finish his sentence, cheeks flushed and grin bright, looking more alive right then than he did in the entire long years Jack knew him before they ever got together. He’s panting in excitement, muscles already tensed in anticipation. “That’s only what I’ve been trying to do for the past ten minutes, big guy, way to finally get with the program-”

“God, you’re the fucking love of my life, man”, Jack swears, finally giving in and pressing a messy kiss to Mac’s lips, whose hand grinds into his cock as he moans happily. That, of course, is when everything goes tits-up. 

A firm slap to his free thigh tears Jack right out of the wonderful moment, both of them jumping in their seats with surprised yelps, and this time it’s Jack who almost topples them to the ground. Heart pounding wildly, he whirls around to face- _“Matty?!”_

Matty looks downright lovely in her smart red dress, as well as absolutely terrifying, though that might just be the grin on her face and the amount of teeth in it. She looks nothing short of horrifyingly gleeful. 

“Ma-atty- oh, wow, we thought you, ah-”, Mac stammers, drawing her sharp gaze and immediately wincing under its weight. She smirks, and Jack is suddenly, viscerally grateful for the space it gives him to adjust himself discreetly. “That I was stuck in traffic? Yup, until about ten minutes ago. I got here and couldn’t stop watching James and your mom, Jack, who I don’t believe I’ve met yet, while you two were canoodling.”

Coughing awkwardly, Jack shifts in his seat to hide his rather obvious erection underneath the table. “We, uh, we weren’t - canoodling. Cuddling, maybe.”

Matty rolls her eyes good-naturedly, and swats his thigh a second time. “Right, sure. I think I know now why you two don’t go on public dates. Does this happen every time you go to a five star restaurant?” Mac buries his face in his hands with a low groan, and Jack grumbles petulantly at his old friend. “What - _no,_ of course not - not that anything _was_ happening!”

Patting his arm consolingly, Matty only graces him with a visibly disbelieving smile. “If that helps you sleep at night, Dalton. Now, would you please introduce me to the incredible lady who called James MacGyver a good-for-nothing wannabe punk to his face?”

Face still flaming hot, Jack can only sigh and stare at where his momma is making her way back to the table, dragging a decidedly chastised-looking Oversight who looks to be considering drowning himself in his drink behind her.

Underneath the table, his hand squeezes at Mac’s nervously sweaty one, who squeezes back after another moment of wallowing in mortification. Before it jerks another fraction of an inch in the direction of Jack’s crotch. 


End file.
